a lesson in romantics
by seireeii
Summary: Just a few lessons that our lovable—but dense, our oh so very dense—goofball has to overcome in order to fully understand the meaning of the word romance. A Tsunayoshi/Haru drabble collection for my own enjoyment. — chapter thirty-one: Stop, drop, and roll. Doesn't take a genius.
1. one of THOSE nights

**notes**: Well... I wasn't going to upload this until I finished _collide with the sky_... But the wait was killing me, so I decided to just upload this and suffer the punishment later (punishment being, lack of inspiration when this 2786 high wears off). Not sure how long this is gonna be. Not putting a number on it, 'cause that'll scare me.

**notes2**: I own _nothing_ (layout, characters, anime, etc.). Oh, and this applies to the whole story. I don't wanna waste space repeating the same thing over and over again.

* * *

**a lesson in romantics**

_it's clear that this is risky business. _

—

**one****—****2 a.m. **

—

It's two in the morning and Sawada Tsunayoshi is about to collapse in exhaustion.

Of course, it's not his fault. No, it's _never_ his fault. It's the stupid cow-kid-boy-thing that's currently hugging and drooling on his leg all the while moaning and groaning about his pillow being harder and rougher than normal. Tsunayoshi's about to die—he has a test tomorrow, training with Reborn starts immediately afterwards, not to mention the fact that Hibari's been eyeing him with more than subtle interest, _just what the __**hell**__ is hibari-san thinking?_—

_Does the color orange look good on me, Tsuna-san? _

—and then, there's Haru.

Oh, God, _Haru_.

With her blouses, skirts, something offensive named _lace_, and corsets, and dresses, and _colors_. He can still see her, sitting across from him at the cake shop down the street from the middle school holding a piece of strawberry shortcake to her lips—he's still wondering how someone as weird and nonsensical as _Miura Haru_ can like something as girly and delicate as _strawberries_.

Something wet laps at his bare calf—_"For the love of God, if that's Lambo's __**tongue**__, I'll seriously beat him to a pulp!"_—it's just Natsu, thank God, or at least he thinks it is, until something dark and not flaming orange raises their head from his sopping wet leg—

"It's a lollipop, Stupid-Tsuna!"

_Well, Tsuna-san? Does this shade of orange look good on me? _

He turns his face into his pillow, and groans into it: "There's _no way_ I'm going to pass that test tomorrow."

.

**end. **

* * *

**notes**: So, yeah, hopefully this inspiration high sticks around. Seriously.


	2. chasing simplicity

—

**two****—**_**charm. **_

—

As a rule, Haru _always_ strives for simplicity.

In her designs, it comes out in swirls of pastels and gentle, but vibrant breaths of color. In her life, it's in the soft, delicate smile or the modest curve of her lips as she faces the sunlight streaming in through the window. In her eyes, it's the feathers of the warmest amber within the depths of smoldering cinnamon, resonating with the full strawberry-hue of her glossy lips. She lives her life as simply as possible—no drama, no complex numbers or systems, just going by what her heart tells her and where her desires lead her.

And at _this_ moment, her heart is _ordering_ her to grab her sketchbooks from the small, girlish white table at the base of the windowpane and hide behind the stacks of blouses, skirts, shirts, dresses, and—dare she think it—corsets closest to her. But it's too late; the brunet's already found her—his caramel eyes meet her auburn ones over her cup of cinnamon-honey tea, the faint beginnings of a smile blossoming on his face.

It's been a long time since she's seen him smile as brightly as he is, and blushes in response. "Tsuna-san," she breathes.

Adrienne—the other girl working her shift at the same time as Haru—immediately turns her head to the object of Haru's fascination, and double take. Adrienne, ever the spicy romanticist, curves her lips up in what appears to be approval, before winking and gesturing with her thumb to Haru: _"He's all yours, honey. You can thank me later." _

Haru's heart pounds.

He's already crossed the room, gazing at her designs. She wonders how he knows they're hers: there's something affectionate in his eyes, almost _proud_?

There's almost a full minute filled with a clueless customer's relentless questions prodding at Adrienne, fraternal twins scuffling close to the door, the father's deep, ominous voice silencing that whole bloody business, before Tsunayoshi speaks, his gaze falling on the rack of pastel shirts and skirts Haru herself designed during her stay in Parsons Paris School of Art and Design. He touches the lace eyelets gently with his fingers, his eyes half-lidded, his gaze achingly gentle. She's out of breath when he turns back to her, the sun glittering through the sheer curtains just behind him, his fingers lingering upon the fabric delicately.

"Did you design this yourself?" he finally asks, caressing the seams of the patterns lightly. Every nerve in her body is in _that_ blouse—it feels like her heart's bursting at her rib cage, threatening to unlock the birdcage door itself—rising against his fingertips. "_Haru._"

His voice is as gentle as she remembers—even though she knows he doesn't mean to cause her arms to erupt in chills at the sound of his voice, her senseless body does so anyway.

"Yes," she replies. He takes hold of the material in his hand, cradles it in his palm as if it's a delicate, fragile thing, before glancing back at her.

"It's beautiful."

Haru closes her eyes, and smiles back at him. "Thank you, Tsuna-san."

This time, _he's_ surprised.

There is something _endearing_ about him in this light: his amber eyes are gentle, brightened by the sunlight, his auburn hair is glittering with the soft, spring green hue of the wallpaper clinging to the walls, his face is sun-kissed and fragile in its modest, humble way, and Haru finds herself crossing one panel of wood, two, three, until she's close enough to plant a tender kiss on his cheek. His face warms at her touch, but he doesn't try to escape her.

"It means a lot to hear it coming from you," she adds, looking him in the eyes.

He leans his forehead against hers. "I've missed you too, Haru."

**.**

**end.**

* * *

**notes**: I wish I liked this drabble. I seriously do. I mean, because it's the happiest one I've written in a while. But, I'll leave it up to you guys to decide if this one's any good. Thank you for the feedback last chapter, please keep it up?


	3. surprising, nope, not at all

—

**three**—_**incalculable.**_

—

Of all the people Reborn expects _never_ to fall in love, Sawada Tsunayoshi tops that list with flying colors.

It's not necessarily because the boy's an _idiot_ when it comes to girls, and how they operate: hair plus rain equals bad time, or—Reborn's personal favorite—female of one's choosing plus alcohol multiplied by indecency equals a _hell _of a good time. Tsunayoshi's not ugly, or emotionally-retarded, or anything that will classify him as a waste of time, or something equally degrading. He's just not exactly _literate_ in terms of females: what they like, what they _really_ mean when they say, "Can you take me home—in _your_ car?", and the ever-changing art of flirtation and blatant perversion.

Reborn's not an expert on the female sex—he's _not_ saying that. He's just smarter, hotter, and, well, more experienced than Tsunayoshi. And though it's in his official job description to serve the Vongola to his utmost and kick Mafia ass while he does so, he also has a side job of tutoring the young boss of the Tenth Generation. And even though Reborn would rather leave it to his student to figure out how to deal with women (because you can be sure as shit that Reborn's gotten his ass smacked a couple times, and for damn good reason), Tsunayoshi needs a girlfriend.

(That's _not_ his mother, because Reborn's getting pissed at how much time the teenager spends with her instead of completing his morning drills.)

(It's no wonder Tsunayoshi keeps getting his ass kicked by Hibari—or maybe it's just impossible for the dumbass brunet to keep the skylark pinned down long enough to make the struggle qualify as a win.)

Thus, the boy needs a girlfriend—like, _now_.

Out of the two girls that Tsunayoshi knows, there's only one suitable choice, and Reborn knows Tsunayoshi won't like it. But, just because Reborn enjoys being a pain in Tsunayoshi's ass, he calls her up using Leon's cellphone form, and asks her to join the Sawada family for dinner. She's ecstatic—in a milder, calmer way, thanks to the poise and finesse she's gained over the course of three-four years, give or take—and even offers to bring some of her own food with her, in an attempt to help out and be polite, blah, blah, blah.

Reborn just sighs; _she'll never change_, and replies: "That's fine. Mama will appreciate it, Haru."

The brunette's voice curves upward into a small smile—or, seems to, anyway—and she answers, "I'll be over sometime around six, is that alright?"

Downstairs, Reborn can hear Tsunayoshi bumbling around the foot of the stairs, tripping and falling flat on his face.

Into the phone, Reborn smirks. "Perfect."

—

And when—hours, and millions of servings of rice, shrimp, chicken dumplings, pork ramen later—Haru turns to Tsunayoshi and offers him a bright, beaming grin, murmuring into the dazed boy's ear—_"Thank you for inviting me over, Tsuna-san."_—the corners of Reborn's smirk touch the sky.

The corners don't fall when the brunet turns to glower at the too-drunk-on-cranberry-juice-to-give-a-damn infant, not even by a fraction of an inch, and even though Reborn knows the boy's beyond angry at him, he's not surprised when Tsunayoshi cracks a small quirk of a smile, and takes Haru's hand in his. What _does_ surprise him, though is the slight, whisper of a measure that Tsunayoshi breathes into Haru's ear in response to her statement.

He can barely hear it, but he thinks he hears: "I'll walk you home, Haru."

(Reborn's heart rate increases as Haru reaches over—is she seriously about to—her hand on Tsunayoshi's cheek, and _kisses_ his dumbass student full on the lips.)

(He begins to feel faint as Tsunayoshi _kisses_ her back, not a blush on his face.)

_Holy shit, since when did Stupid-Tsuna pull his head out of his ass? _

And when the two—_now_ they're blushing—teenagers leave the room, the front door clicking behind them, Reborn utters the exact words he thought he'd never say in regards to his student:

"I'm proud of you, Tsuna."

**.**

**end.**

* * *

**notes**: I love writing Reborn simply because Reborn's hilarious and fun to write. Enough said. Thank you for the feedback guys, please keep it up.


	4. lucky little ichigo

—

**four****—**_**fruity. **_

—

Tsunayoshi _swears_ that it's her _lip gloss_ that makes him lucky.

It's something intoxicating—he's not familiar with berries, herbs, fruits, vegetables, all of the things that Haru's known for simply because of her name and what it stands for—a constant presence whenever he wakes up, rolls over, and stutters to find her curled up alongside him. It always takes him a moment to remember that they're living together, in Paris, France—the home of all things lovely, romantic, and downright _embarrassing_—and even though it's not a permanent thing, it still sends shivers running through his body.

Paris. France. The City of Love—or so Hibari told him, the day before he left for his vacation.

(This always reminds him, _how the hell does Hibari-san know that Paris, France is the City of Love when he doesn't have a romantic bone in his body?_)

(Haru always tells him that maybe Hibari-san's not as oblivious and heartless as everyone makes him out to be—a quick glance from Tsunayoshi silences that thought, squashes underneath an ice cold fist that can _only_ belong to Hibari.)

But when he does manage to keep his head on straight when he wakes up, he doesn't move, doesn't disturb her, just waits until she opens her eyes into the bright, beaming sunlight around them, and reach up with her hands to pull his face down to hers—it's her lip gloss again, and her shampoo, her face wash, her body soap, her _taste_ itself, her scent—

It tastes _achingly_ familiar: spring skies, wildflowers, fruits, something like strawberries and honey—

—and he pulls back: her eyes are brighter than the sun, her hair loose, gathered about her shoulders, her top loose, but attractive enough to hold his gaze, to send his fingertips careening into the tiers and ruffles blowing in the wind at her chest. His irises don't want to wander down to their legs—strawberry-pink entwined with his clear peach-orange—but do so anyway, along with his principles, his sensibilities, _oh, God, why are you doing this to me? _

He assumes he's said it aloud, because Haru offers an answer, "Because you deserve everything, Tsuna-san."

He wants to counter, to shrink back into his self-loathing, no-good state of mind, but her legs clamp together against his, holding his hand in place just above her stomach, just under the hem of her ruffles and tiers. His fingertips slide across her skin, soft, enticing a reaction out of her—he doesn't mean to, but he can't help but trace the shapes lying hidden to his eyes, he knows they're there.

"Give yourself a chance, Tsuna-san," she pants out, struggling to ignore the touch of his skin against hers as his hands act entirely of their own accord, or so he's _deathperate_ to believe. "I'm not here to judge you—I just want—"

"—_Haru_," he whispers, embarrassed at his tone, husky and slow, lingering upon her name, before he pulls her lips to his with magnetism and magnetism alone, tasting that saccharinity once more. He knows he's stealing too much, taking too much, but can't stop, _dear, God, please, this isn't_—

She pulls her lips from his, and kisses his cheek, his temple, his nose, the inside of his elbow, his collarbone, his shoulder. Spreading the luck of her strawberries and honey across his body, igniting his flames deep inside. He can feel her heart resonating with his flames—it rouses Natsu from his place tangled in the bed sheets just beyond their legs, his orange eyes popping open and paws hurrying toward them with a small roar of approval. As Natsu tackles Tsunayoshi in a fit of hysterics—the happy kind, the _rare_ kind that never envelops Tsunayoshi unless he's with Haru—Haru smiles down at them from where she sits, a leaf to the wind, baring her shape to the sun.

She whispers, "I just want you to be happy."

"I am," he responds, laughing as Natsu—in a completely not lion-like move—licks his face, "I just don't know what I did to deserve it, that's all."

Haru touches the lip gloss-stained cheek closest to her with her fingertips: "Because I love you, and I want you to love me too."

Natsu blinks from the top of the stunned Tsunayoshi's head, his heart starts pounding, his eyes widening. "You—"

"—It's okay," she says suddenly, waving her palms in the air, "I—I was just trying to ease your mind, not embarrass you."

He's not embarrassed; he doesn't understand why he should be.

"Haru."

She stops. "Yes?"

"Why?"

Haru bites her bottom lip, and meets his gaze nervously. He knows there's a reason why, there's always a reason why, except when Hibari's concerned, because he never needs a reason to do what he does because he can just do it without fear of the consequences just because he's _Hibari Kyouya_. It occurs to Tsunayoshi, when Haru's lips near his again, _why the hell am I thinking about Hibari-san of all times?_—before he decides to forget about his question, and the reason why. He doesn't need it, she's kissing away his doubt, and holding him close, and that's all he needs.

All the lucky lip gloss in the world can't measure up to this, even though she's wearing it.

**.**

**end.**

* * *

**notes**: I'm pretty sure most of my grammar's wrong in this drabble. Oh, yeah, inspired by Ichigo Kurosaki, or rather, just the word _ichigo_ in general. God love strawberries—I actually happen to love my face wash with strawberry seeds, and my chap stick that's strawberry-flavored. Thanks for the feedback guys, please keep it up.


	5. reading between the lines

—

**five**—_**tragedy. **_

—

It's during these meetings that Haru learns the true nature of Tsunayoshi's job.

She's never doubted that it's hard, taxing—both emotionally, and physically, not to mention bad for the ozone hole regarding the energy emitted from deathperation flames—that even though he spares her smiles and breathless glances, it might just be because he can't bring himself to vent his frustration to her, to talk to her about the things he can't talk to the others about. Even though all of them—meaning: the six Guardians (yes, _six_, Hibari stays just in case Tsunayoshi or Reborn's in the mood to spar), I-pin, Fuuta, Shouichi, Spanner, the others—live in the same house, under the same roof, on the same property, she doesn't understand _why_ he can't talk to her.

All she wants is an explanation. A simple, concise explanation.

—

Natsu stays with her one morning.

Whether it's out of desire to comfort, or to be comforted, she's not sure, but the lion cub envelops her with his bright, bright, bright Sky-class flames—so similar to his master's—licking her face with his soft pink tongue and waving his tail through the air. Haru takes his weight, setting him up on her shoulder—she knows it's his preferred place to sit; Tsunayoshi always sets him up on his shoulder—and going about tidying her room in the house on Vongola grounds.

The lion cub keeps to her dark hair, sniffing at her jawbone almost like Jirou, Takeshi's Akita Inu. And though the action is welcome, though slightly disturbing, Haru doesn't push him away, or set him down on the floor—Natsu is an accepted occupant of her left shoulder and she gently touches her lips to the side of his head, not flinching when his flames graze her cheeks. They're every bit as strong, harmonious, and rippling as Tsunayoshi's—though lighter and cloudier in hue—and almost subconsciously, she leans into them, warmth enveloping her entire face.

"Oh, this is where Natsu's been hiding." It's Tsunayoshi's voice—Haru jerks her face upward, and turns toward him, meeting his hesitant smile, and watching warily as he cautiously steps into the room. "I had a feeling he'd be with you, Haru, since he can't come with me to meetings."

"Yes, he's been helping me clean up," she answers, managing a cheerful smile. The lion-cub purrs against her cheek, rubbing his side into her face, all the while quivering with the rumble of his voice.

Tsunayoshi crosses the wooden floor slowly, but when he reaches her, he wraps his arms around her from behind and drops his chin to her shoulder, leading Natsu to jump up and play in Tsunayoshi's unruly auburn spikes. His touch is warm, gentle, and _easy_—he hasn't changed in all of the years she's known him, in all of the years since he's become the boss of the Vongola Family. His lips touch her ear, her hair, the corner of her eye.

"I missed you," he whispers, holding her close. "I'm sorry you can't come with me."

"It's fine," she responds, reaching up with her hands to cup his arms. "I understand."

"No, you don't," Tsunayoshi replies. Haru blinks, and glances at him, only to bury her face in shaking auburn hair. His arms clutch her harder, fiercer, tighter, almost possessive, even though they both know that she is as much his as he is hers. His voice trembles: "I'm sorry, Haru. I'm so, so, sorry."

"What's wrong?" she asks, leaning her head against his. "What's going on, Tsuna-san? Did I do something? Did Hibari-san beat you in a fight again?"

Though he laughs—it's a sad, sad, sad sound, nothing at all like the laughter she fell and is _still_ in love with—he shakes his head, and presses his lips to her cheek, her jaw, the corner of her lips, her lips themselves. He doesn't stop, doesn't let her ask again, doesn't offer an answer either. She guesses it'll always be like this when it comes to the Mafia—his man pride will always come first, no matter how strong and brave Haru is. He will always refuse to tell her, out of the desire to keep her safe.

But this time, _he_ relents. "Something bad happened today, and, it's _my_ fault."

"What?" she presses, turning in his arms, raising her hands to the sides of his face, "what happened? Did someone get hurt? Did an ally turn on us? Or did Hibari-san seriously beat you in a fight?"

"Hibari-san was injured protecting Yamamoto's father, and…" His voice trails off, his caramel eyes falling to the floor. Haru lifts his face back to hers, softens her face, leaves herself open and willing in the semblance of making him feel _safe_. His forehead touches hers. "He's in the hospital."

"Hibari-san's in the hospital?" It's surprising—the man's made of _steel_, or maybe something even stronger than that. But something lingers on her mind, something more pressing and important. Something her female intuition is screaming to her, but is still too clouded to be sure. "And… Yamamoto Tsuyoshi?"

There's a long, weighted pause.

Then:

"He's… He's _gone_, Haru."

Thousands of thoughts are swimming through her head. Thousands, maybe even millions. She can't count them, they're moving too fast. But the one that sticks out the clearest to her is the _need_ to comfort Takeshi—the need to hold him, rub his back, let him cry, have him let everything out. Something warm, and wet falls to her shoulder, and she turns her head to see Tsunayoshi raise his head, look her in the eyes with his glistening milk chocolate ones, and touch his forehead to hers once more, leaning on her, drawing strength from her.

She wraps her arms around Tsunayoshi, and Natsu—not content with being ignored—sets about licking Tsunayoshi's tears from his cheeks before they fall, though, he doesn't seem to notice that by now, Haru's in tears as well, listening to Tsunayoshi's choked sobs and heart beat: _bm-bmp, bm-bmp, bm-bmp, bm-bmp, it's, all, my, fault_. She knows the door's wide open, that there are people passing through—she swears that it's Chrome hovering near the edge of the doorway, wiping tears from her lone violet eye—but none of it matters.

Except this: "Can the body be flown here to Italy?"

"Hibari-san said it was possible, before he went under," Tsunayoshi replies softly, his words muffled. "I'm not sure if Yamamoto would approve, though."

"I'll ask him," Haru says, holding his shoulders as he pulls his face back. She smiles at him through her tears, and nods. "So we can give him the respect he deserves, alright?"

Even though Tsunayoshi's tired, exhausted, emotionally-unstable, crying, and wrung out, he doesn't fight with her. "I'll arrange for him to be flown here."

"Kyouko-chan and I will handle the funeral plans," Haru adds, pressing a kiss to Tsunayoshi's forehead, her fingertips light against his face. He sighs, leaning into her touch, but waits for her to whisper, "For now, you need to rest, Tsuna-san. You're barely standing." When he blinks his eyes back open, she says, "I'll wake you up when we hear from Hibari-san again."

He—despite his frailty—manages a slight smile: "That's fine."

And as gently as she can, she sends Tsunayoshi on his way with one last kiss to the lips.

—

Once the door shuts behind him, only then does she crumble to her knees, clutching her face in her hands.

**. **

**end.**

* * *

**notes**: So, finally, here comes the angst. I've been writing all day—not really for 2786, but close enough to make me want to—and since I had a spurt of inspiration, I opened this back up, and finished it. Hopefully they're not too OOC?


	6. stay gold, tsunayoshi

—

**six—**_**duty. **_

—

In the late afternoon light, Tsunayoshi is golden.

She isn't sure of how he does it, but he holds the sunlight inside himself, harnessing it, taking what the smoldering embers offer him willingly, and expels it through every pore in his body. She supposes that the peach-hued gossamer shimmering across his skin is his flames—tired, exhausted, hampered by fatigue, but bright all the same—seeping into the air around them. She knows it's his job as the Sky to envelop, and accept them all: Rain, Storm, Lightning, Sun, Cloud, and Mist.

And she knows that even though Tsunayoshi's stronger than most teenagers his age, it doesn't make him immune to fatigue and exhaustion. Haru guesses that he's taking hints from his Cloud Guardian who—according to Tetsuya—naps at least six times a day to keep up his boundless amounts of stamina and endurance. It's not that she thinks it's a bad thing, because it's not. Tsunayoshi hardly sleeps, in his room at least. Whenever she goes to look for him to make sure he's getting plenty of rest, he's usually in the office, with a steaming cup of espresso coffee propped up beside him.

Though she disagrees with his taste in beverages, it's at least nice to know that Reborn cares even _a little_ bit.

But this time, the espresso isn't enough to keep Tsunayoshi on his feet long enough to make it through a single stack of papers, or the meeting he has later on in the afternoon, the dinner with Dino-san, his daily sparring session with Hibari-san—who gets quite irritable if Tsunayoshi's not able to make it, God knows why—Tsunayoshi's asleep in her lap, his cheek warm against her thighs, one arm lying across his chest, the other at his side. Haru's fingertips graze his upraised cheek, the wind dancing through his unruly auburn hair, sweeping flurries of harmonious gossamer into the sky.

He has flame energy he needs to release—he _needs_ to spar with Hibari, not sleep. And even though Haru knows this, she can't bring herself to wake him up. He works so hard each and every day to make sure everyone's needs are met; everyone's happy and satisfied, everyone's _safe_. He never catches a break, or gets even a spare moment to himself, and despite how much that must hurt and irritate him, he never complains. So, Haru manages to find it within herself to reach for his phone—that's in his chest pocket, she can feel his heart beating against her fingertips, steady and slow, deeply asleep—and dial Hibari-san's number.

Though she knows Tsunayoshi will be upset with her when he wakes up, she doesn't care. It's her _obligation_ as his lover—no, his _friend_—to take care of him when he's otherwise incapable of doing so himself. And even though his excess flame energy is a problem, he needs to take care of his _body_ first. Haru knows Hibari will understand that—at least, she hopes he will.

"Hibari-san," she says, when he picks up the phone. No hesitation, one can't hesitate when speaking to Hibari Kyouya. Or Xanxus, for that matter. Haru swears they're more alike than they like to admit. "Tsuna-san's not feeling well."

She gives Hibari a moment to process the information, what it entails, what she's getting at, and when he doesn't respond, she says it straight out.

"I'm calling to let you know that he won't be coming to spar with you."

_This_ entices a response from Hibari—albeit, an angry one, but it's better than silence. She supposes it's because of Suzuki that he's answering her with words, rather than gruff, huffed noises. Hibari's never been the most vocal of people—Haru makes a mental note to thank Suzuki Adelheid the next time she sees her. Tsunayoshi's deep, weighted sigh blows out across Haru's legs, drawing her attention back to Hibari, and his irritable snarl.

"I see," he replies, not at all courteous. His tone is clipped, and curt—even for Hibari—when he adds, "Tell him that tomorrow, there'll be special conditions as retribution for this."

"Special conditions?" Haru blinks, cocking her head. "Hibari-san, I don't think—"

But it's too late—he's already hung up.

Fantastic.

Haru runs her fingers across Tsunayoshi's cheek as she places his phone back down beside him, closing her eyes and sighing into the wind.

"Sometimes, Tsuna-san, I wonder how you manage to stay sane," Haru mumbles. "It must be hard being you."

And though he never voices a reply, she can almost imagine him nodding, _you're telling me. _

**.**

**end.**

* * *

**notes**: Thank you guys so much for the feedback for these past five chapters. I know I don't say it enough, and I'm sorry for that. Your reviews mean a lot to me. Hopefully, this one will suffice as well, even though there's too much Hibari—he's my favorite character next to Tsunayoshi, so _of course_ he's going to appear, _a lot_—but anyway, there's a point for him appearing, this time.

**notes2**: Oh, and if any of you want a certain storyline or drabbleline continued into another prompt, let me know, and I'll see what I can do. Thanks guys!


	7. hey, aphrodite

—

**seven**—_**correspondence. **_

—

There is a girl who steals his breath every time she kisses his lips.

Her hair is milky chocolate—it settles in all the right places, cascades down her back in soft, gentle brunette waves. Her skin shimmers with late morning gossamer: pinks and ivories and whites and delicate petals of orchids all mixed together to create her ethereal complexion. Her eyes of a smoldering auburn, the hue that brings fire to the cheeks of every man she meets. And her lips—God, her _lips_—taste of strawberries and honey, like the first patches of dawn dappling his wooden bedroom floor when he first opens his eyes and begins his day. Her curves fold into his palms, seamless, boundless, relentless in his hands. They can't hide their presence from him—it doesn't matter what she wears, he knows they're there, taunting and teasing him, daring him to take them.

It's almost a mystery to him how he's managed to tame this _goddess_.

She's the spokesperson for all those willful—passes fortitude and courage between both of her slender hands, all the while wearing modesty and elegance like her favorite strawberry lip gloss. She holds herself with polished finesse, smiles with both hands outstretched, dances across the dewed lawn with a sort of reckless abandon that—in all honesty—only makes him fall more in love with her. She holds nobility and courage up to the sky, and in her eyes, there's a certain flame that never wavers. She keeps cunning close, but hardly resorts to anything but coy teasing.

She knows what it means to fight for what's right, to stand strong even if overcome by adversity. She doesn't need palms cloaked in orange, orange, orange flames, doesn't need a crown of autumn scarlet embers—he can see her strength, no matter how dark the air becomes.

But right now, there's explosions in the distance, looks of anxiety and stark terror surrounding him, flames burning from his forehead—she has a look of such utter softness on her face, a faded mirage of her characteristic luminescence, as if shards of her heavenly image has fallen to Earth to remain there in sleep—and when he lifts the corners of his lips in the softest, bravest smile he can manage, there's a spark in her eyes.

And the wonderful thing is that that fire that settles into her irises is for him, and _him_ alone.

**.**

**end.**

* * *

**notes**: Hey there, guys. I actually sort of like this one. Sort of, but not completely. I'm trying to stay as far away from angst as I can, but there's still a little bit, if you squint. Thanks for the feedback, everyone. Please let me know what you think of this one too?


	8. touching the sky

—

**eight**—_**hold. **_

—

She isn't certain how they've managed to fall into this situation—at this point, she's just writing it off as he said/she said garbage and a _former_ lovers' quarrel—but all she knows is, she's barely managing to restrain the urge to clobber him over the head. It's only because they're hanging off the side of a cliff—though Tsunayoshi's hand feels absolutely _wonderful_ in hers—with Tsunayoshi's fingers sliding off the side that she realizes that it's because she still loves him, or loved him at one point that she's in this situation.

It doesn't take him long to realize the complete foolishness of this predicament. She's got to hand it to him—literally—he's keeping his cool despite the fact that she's sure that she's too heavy for him to hold up above the roaring sea at their feet for much longer. There's a certain desperation in his eyes—it combusts the caramel with brushfire speed, consuming everything in its path only to stop at the deep, dark black of his pupils. He flicks his head back up to the top of the cliff, locking eyes with the enemy that thinks it's all fine and dandy to blast both Tsunayoshi—who's his opponent—and Haru herself out the window.

And from where Haru is holding up, she has a feeling that she's about to sprout a tail and become a mermaid right about now.

"Vongola Decimo, just look at yourself: you're barely hanging onto the side of cliff and your girlfriend's dragging you down. Just let her go, and you can spare yourself," the man mocks, leveling an axe cloaked in crimson Storm-class flames at Tsunayoshi's forehead. "Or, maybe I should save you the trouble and cut you loose."

Just as Haru is about to correct the imbecile for the girlfriend comment, Tsunayoshi speaks first. "I can't do that."

"Why not?"

Tsunayoshi's eyes are _burning_.

She can feel his flames roiling underneath the surface of his skin—they slither close to Haru's palm, enveloping her hands in warmth and confidence—hear his voice arcing, _changing_, even though his halo of orange Sky-class flames hasn't beamed from his forehead just yet. But despite that, she knows they're coming.

"Because I will _never_ abandon a friend." His voice is a fierce, subdued whisper, husky in Haru's ears, but strong nonetheless. "Even if it costs me my life, I will _never_ abandon my friends."

"Tsuna-san," Haru murmurs, her eyes widening. The man above Tsunayoshi pulls his axe back, and smiles a hellish smirk that ignites something deep inside Haru. Something that sleeps, but won't ever wake. "Tsuna-san, let me go!"

Tsunayoshi turns his head, widening his eyes.

"I'm… too heavy," she says, hanging her head, eyes downcast. "And he's right. If you're not holding onto me, you'll be able to—"

"—Don't be stupid!" he exclaims, tightening his grip on her. It's only then she realizes that he's been wearing his mittens the entire time, holding pills against her palm—holding both hope and love in his hands. His eyes are suddenly wild, _blazing_: "I won't let you fall, Haru! I can't—you're—I just can't!"

Haru's eyes widen—tremble.

"How touching." Tsunayoshi turns his head back to the enemy just in time to notice the axe falling toward his fingers. He narrows his eyes, and tightens his grip on both the pills and Haru's hand. "I'm feeling generous today—I'll send you both to the bottom of the ocean together!"

Haru braces herself, closing her eyes, and she knows Tsunayoshi notices, because he says, "Don't be afraid."

She opens her eyes just as he lets go of the side of the cliff, evading the axe only seconds before it splinters the edge. The impact sends Tsunayoshi and Haru careening toward the rolling ocean, their hands still joined together, his other hand out to balance himself, holding her close to him as they fall. It would be completely and utterly romantic if not for the savage waves waiting for them—he brings their joined hands closer to his lips, his eyes pleading.

"You have to hold onto my body, Haru," he whispers, his head turning to face her. She shivers, as he offers her a soft, gentle smile. Closing her eyes, she lets go of his hand, freefalling, before wrapping her arms around him as tightly as she can, her back plunging through the chilled sea-scented air.

With both his hands free, he slips on the other mitten, puts his pills to his mouth, and swallows.

She hears his flames brighten from the tense forms of his fists, catching them just before they crash into the water—Sky-class flames cradle his forehead, and his eyes open, the smoldering amber embers burning as fiercely as his hands. Haru screws her eyes shut tight against his shoulder, her loose milk chocolate hair blowing through the air behind them as he scoops the air, and surges back up the cliff's face, his auburn hair tickling the side of her face as she buries her nose into it. His shoulders relax underneath her chest, a soft sigh escaping his lips, and though it surprises how Haru how fast he can move when he pulls left—a sizzling blood red bullet whizzes past them, screeching through the air as it crashes into the ocean—his movements are sure, and smooth.

Confident.

"Hold onto me as tightly as you can, Haru," Tsunayoshi murmurs, his eyes gentle as he glances back at her. She lifts her face from his hair, and nods, tightening her grip on him. "And no matter what happens, promise me you won't let go."

Though they're broken up, though she knows that despite the fact that it was her decision to end their relationship, and though she knows that she does love him, _still_, she nods, and whispers, "I promise."

He reaches for her cheek with one of his blazing hands, his eyes closing, his forehead pulsing, his lips parting—she doesn't stop him.

.

And when they're flying on their way back to the Vongola mansion—the rescue mission successful, make-up kiss still tingling on her mouth—she sits upright on his back, her hands on his shoulder blades, and touches the sky.

**.**

**end.**

* * *

**notes**: Wrote this during my free block in between exams—I seriously love this scene. I wish Tsunayoshi was more romantically literate sometimes. But hey, that's what makes him so lovable. Thank you for the feedback everyone, I'll try my best to keep updating.


	9. out of touch

—

**nine****—**_**murmur. **_

—

One night, as the door closes behind him, she walks straight into his exhausted arms—he reaches up to cradle her on polished reflex, his fingers threading through the thick chocolate locks tumbling down her back—pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder, his cheek, the corner of his eye, her touch rising to breathe: _be gentle to me tonight. _

**.**

**end.**

* * *

**notes**: I had writer's block. Everything I wanted to write sounded awful to me, so I wrote one of these little sentences to get me out of it. I might upload another drabble tonight to make up for the shortness of this one. Thank you for the feedback everyone, please keep it up.


	10. the feisty grin that tastes of lust

—

**ten—**_**hunger. **_

—

Of course, Sawada Tsunayoshi is no stranger to urges and desires. He's a male teenager: his hormones are raging; his hands don't ignitewith_ just_ deathperation flames anymore, his heart pounds in his chest for different reasons than fear now. He's growing up—or rather, that's what he _hopes_ is going on. Either he's growing up, or he's becoming more and more of a pervert as each day passes. Tsunayoshi isn't an idiot—Enma would tend to agree, basically anyone _other_ than Hibari and Reborn would agree with that statement—he knows that his wants and needs are changing.

He just never expects to _want_ Haru this much—the feeling is like one of Hibari's tonfa strikes: hard and fast, so quick that he can't even see it coming. His Hyper Intuition can't pick it up either. His body just starts _burning_ for no apparent reason, and though he knows it has something to do with Haru—it _always_ happens whenever she's in the same room as he is—he's not sure why he's all of a sudden imagining pull her shirt from her body, running his lips across her shoulder, pulling her bra straps from her chest, exposing her beating heart to his touch—

And of course, _those_ thoughts crawl up his spine, like clockwork—

—and once he realizes he's about to fall off the deep end, he waves his palms in the air and hides his blushing face from whoever or whatever is in front of him, be it Hibari, Reborn, Mukuro, Adelheid—funny, he's only listing _scary_ people—or the _wall_.

(Either he's losing his mind, or Hibari's hit him one too many times on the head in between X-Burners.)

(Which reminds him, _isn't Hibari-san sparring with Suzuki-san right now?_)

(Yeah, _sparring_—that's why Tsunayoshi's staring at the bill for the Facility's dormitory repairs.)

The scent of strawberries, orchids, and _honey_—holy crow, is this who he _thinks_ it is?—floods his senses as the door flies open, revealing a flustered Haru, who's pale cheeks are glistening with a smoky violet-powder blue glow. Tsunayoshi isn't sure how he's supposed to take this development—it's only because of that telltale azure-purple glow wafting into the room from the hallway that he leaps from his chair, grabbing his mittens and pills moments later. He doesn't need an explanation, at least one spoken. He knows it's got something to do with the booms and shakes coming from the training room.

Adelheid and Hibari must be doing _more_ than just training.

.

Sure as shit, they _are_ doing more than just training.

Tsunayoshi's mittens and pills fall to the floor from his hands, and it's only because Haru's trembling behind him that he manages to stay upright. Adelheid's got Hibari in one of those pin-downs that—for any normal human—will qualify for one of those things Reborn's named _sweaty-time poses_. And though Hibari's lying underneath the busty, red-eyed Glacier Guardian of Shimon—the one he supposed hates with every fiber of his being that's _not_ plotting sadistic ways to kill Rokudo Mukuro—he's got one _hell _of a feisty grin on his face, one that flings Tsunayoshi into a tank of toxic waste and explodes him one hundred times over.

Tsunayoshi's trembling just as fervently as Haru—"_Hibari __**never**__ grins like that, what the hell is going on here?"_—as he watches Adelheid's loose, dark hair fall over her shoulders as she leans toward the crucified Hibari lying still beneath her, her crimson eyes half-lidded and smoldering gently—

_He's not gonna let her, he's not gonna let her, he's not gonna let her, he's not gonna let her_—

—and much to Tsunayoshi's _complete_ shock, Hibari lets her touch her lips to his, hold his face, thread her fingers through his hair, straddle him with her pale, white legs.

He wonders if this is what being _staked_ is like.

Then, he hears Haru squeal—_"Hahi!"_—and once it registers with both Adelheid and Hibari that they're no longer alone, the skylark's head's rising from the cement floor, the face that once held that scary grin now bearing an angry, twisted scowl that—to Tsunayoshi—is so close to the normal one he wears that he sighs in relief, dropping to the floor to pick up his mittens and pills. All the while, he's forgetting that the two breathless monsters not too far away from him are _starving_ and debating which method of death is painful enough to suffice as retribution for interrupting them.

But, instead of getting up and ripping him to shreds, Hibari asks, "Do you need something, herbivore?"

And Tsunayoshi, still shocked, replies, "My sanity?"

Adelheid bites back a laugh, but a small amount of icy humor escapes her lips, prompting Hibari to flick his gaze back to her. There's something in their eyes that makes something boil deep inside Tsunayoshi, makes him think of what it will feel like to run his fingers down the slope of Haru's milky shoulders, smooth his fingertips across her skin, taste the curve of her neck, cup her chest in his hands, brush his tongue across the outer contours of her mouth—

Then he _gets_ it—

—"Oh, God, _Hibari-san_!" he exclaims, hiding his face, blushing red as a tomato. He's sure Hibari's wondering if Tsunayoshi needs to go to a mental hospital, Adelheid's silently laughing in amusement, and he _knows _Haru's kneeling beside him, her hands on his shoulders, attempting to figure out what's wrong, what made him explode like that.

But it's useless—he's figured out what _sweaty-time_ is.

.

So, a little while later—the booms and shakes are _still_ rocking the Vongola Mansion's foundations—he's in his bedroom, allowing Haru to ease his discomfort in the only way she can:

Learn by example.

**.**

**end.**

* * *

**notes**: Still in Writer's Block, but innuendos always manage to get me out of it. And, this prompt was practically beginning for it, so I just went with it. I'll write something _cleaner_ tomorrow, I promise. I do not own the term _sweaty-time_. The person who does rocks my socks. Thanks for the feedback everyone, please keep it up.


	11. holding out for a hero

—

**eleven****—**_**metaphor. **_

—

In this moment, it seems as though the Knights of the Round Table are dead.

She can see it in the subdued curve of Tsunayoshi's shoulders: the battle's not going well, their family—how silly of her it is to think of the rag-tag group of misfits as her _family_ when she has a mother and a father waiting for her in the past—is losing, and as the selfless, earnest person he is, Tsunayoshi is blaming himself. She can't find it inside herself to comfort him—who is she to think that she _can_, when she doesn't understand, or _accept_ his world? She knows even if she does, he'll only brush her hand from his shoulder, painting a forced, but gentle smile onto his face, and hand her the words _it's going to be okay_ when Haru knows that it clearly isn't.

With King Arthur standing alone, there's only so much he can do before everything starts to crumble. And even though she's no mage, nor a wielder of this magic called _deathperation flames_, she's doing all she can to hold his world up: comforting I-pin, tending to Shouichi's wounds, consoling the worried Kyouko and assuring her that—despite the fact that Haru's senses cannot reach that far—her brother's going to be okay, that_ all of them are going to come back safely_. And in the moments she begins to lose faith—_hope_—she looks at the resolute curve of Tsunayoshi's silhouette, and hardens herself.

They are _going_ to win—they _have_ to.

.

She knows it won't be long now—Reborn's already beginning to waver, but Tsunayoshi still remains solid, and whole, and _breathing_, so hopelessly alive that Haru barely keeps from throwing herself into the distant curve of his back, clinging to his sweatshirt, touching her palms to that heart that never seems to leave her. I-pin shifts in Haru's arms, turning toward the lake, worry and sadness in her eyes. Haru knows she's lonely, and sad, and worried, and in an effort to ease the infant's fear, she holds her tighter, and when I-pin glances up at her, Haru smiles.

"It'll be alright," she whispers, her words pulled straight from Tsunayoshi's defeated caramel irises. "It'll be alright, I-pin-chan."

_It's going to be okay; _he whispers into her mind, _it's going to be okay. _

Deep down, she knows it's a lie. She knows _him_: how he thinks, the deepest reaches of his heart, his voice and its inflections, the clear, brilliant hue of his orange flames, that magic she's so desperate to immerse herself into. It's a foolish thought—there's no chance that if she could wield his magic that he would allow her to throw herself into battle. _It's reckless_, she tells her heart, _it's reckless, and Tsuna-san wouldn't approve_. But what other choice does she have? She can see Kyouko beginning to break down, I-pin trembling in her arms, Yuni—oh, God, _Yuni_—start to shake.

It's King Arthur's turn to live up to the legend—to draw Excalibur from the very stone that drains his _magic_, his only defense against enemies that threaten to destroy him, and his friends. His fists tighten at his sides. His eyes—those eyes she loves so, so, so very much—close, and he raises something to his lips. There's nothing she can do to stop him when his powers ignite: autumn-hued flames burst to life at the center of his forehead, exploding from his hands, smoldering in his eyes. She watches as he changes into the Tsunayoshi she's afraid to lose, the one she _loves_ with everything that makes her whole.

His words don't register with her—she's still coming to terms with the fact that he's leaving, walking straight into danger, like the selfless, protective person he is—and when he doesn't turn to face her, to say _goodbye_, or promise her that he'll return to them, or offer words to comfort her, she catches her breath, and lets the rain fall. There's a flinch in the arc of Tsunayoshi's shoulders, and he turns to face her, his eyes so pitifully fragile despite their radiance and luminescence. It's then that she takes one, hollow step forward, becoming the knight she wishes to be, and hardens her glistening eyes.

She knows she can't stop him from going somewhere so dangerous. She knows, but breathes: "Be careful."

And when it's time for him to go, all he offers her is a smile—a silent whisper, "I'll return to you, Haru. I promise."

.

Maybe next time, he'll say _I love you_.

**.**

**end. **

* * *

**notes**: In all honesty, I think this is one of the most depressing pieces of writing I've written yet. I'm writing a happier one. I promise. Thanks for the feedback everyone, I'm grateful for the reviews, trust me.


	12. the sun also rises

—

**twelve—**_**rise. **_

—

He's not the kind of person that thinks night to night, touch to touch, kiss to kiss.

He's the kind of person that thinks realistically, using the sun dial, the stars, the alarm clock on his wooden desk or the bells that ring from the downstairs of their two-floor apartment when she's finishing breakfast. He's the kind of person that thinks with his mind: analyzes each second as it passes, savors each of her heartbeats as her pulse rises to meet his palm, breathes in her scent of _fairy tales_ and _happily ever after_ all rolled into one beautiful girl.

The same beautiful girl that's calling for him in her own, special way.

He blinks his eyes open as the bells ring from the foot of the stairs, and notes with a sleepy, caramel gaze that he's the only one still in bed. Her scent's still clinging to the sheets, he notices when he pulls the covers back from over him. He can hear the distant noises of pots and pans clanging together up in their bedroom—the smells of omelets, rice, and warm cinnamon-milk drift up into their room as he pulls on his clothes.

He reaches the downstairs just as she finishes cleaning the pots and pans, and when she hears his footsteps at the doorway, she turns to face him with her bright grin, soapy hands, and bubbly strawberry-hued lips. She gestures with one hand to the table, "I made your favorite today, Tsuna-san."

He just smiles.

She dries her hands off on the small red-white plaid hand towel lying folded on the counter beside her elbow. Once she's finished, she unties her apron—it's a cute apron, his favorite of hers: flowery, fringed with white lace, so _Haru_ that he can't imagine another woman wearing it—and crosses the room, the sunlight dancing across her bare shoulders, skating along the edges of her nightdress. The skirt flutters about her legs as she stops in front of him, her fingers take hold of his chin, her lips touch his lightly as if to say, _good morning_.

He cups her elbows, his fingers tracing the insides of the rounded curves, "Breakfast smells good, Haru."

Her lips quirk upward at his statement. "Thank goodness. When I spilled most of the cinnamon into the milk, I almost had a heart attack."

"It's alright, cinnamon doesn't bother me," he replies, sitting down at the table in front of his plate. He takes an experimental bite of the omelet, and smiles up at her through his eyes, and she blushes back as her lips curve upward. She wanders back to the counter, and pulls her strawberry shortcake from behind the bread box and pokes her fork into it, her chocolate eyes quiet. He notices the decline in her mood, and asks, "Reborn's already told you, hasn't he?"

"Gokudera-san, actually," she corrects, taking a bite of her cake. His eyes widen in surprise, and she adds, "He said something along the lines of that you and Hibari-san will be away for some time and he wanted to make sure I was alright."

She doesn't say it, but he already knows.

Tsunayoshi sighs. "Haru."

"Please, be careful," she says, setting her cake down and coming around to place her hands on his shoulders as he finishes his breakfast. "You know I worry about you when you leave home for months at a time. I know that Hibari-san's with you, but still—"

He quiets her with a kiss, and smiles, "Don't worry, Haru."

He pulls on his jacket, adjusts his tie, takes his mittens and pills from the drawer beside the flowery scrapbook lying on the chest of drawers next to the staircase. She hands him his shoes—freshly polished too, by the look of the glistening luster on the toes—with a small smile, and raises herself onto her tip toes to touch her lips to his cheek gently, ruffling his auburn hair with her breath. He leans into her touch as he pulls on his shoes, and once he finishes, he turns to her, parts her hair back behind her ear, and gives her a real, proper kiss, before releasing her from that one as well.

She pats him on the back, and plants her hands on her hips, tilting her head, her lips curving. "I love you, Tsuna-san."

He throws her a soft, gentle smile from over his shoulder, holding the door open behind him. "I know."

—

One night, the phone rings—

It's Hibari-san—

—her eyes screw shut, her lips curving into a tear-stained smile.

The sun never rises.

**.**

**end.**

* * *

**notes**: I broke my promise. That is all. Thank you all for the feedback, I appreciate it, believe me.


	13. hey, sexy lady

—

**thirteen—**_**door. **_

—

When she opens the bathroom door to see Sawada Tsunayoshi—_the_ Sawada Tsunayoshi—waiting for her with her favorite fluffy pink towel in his hand as well as her favorite smile on his face, Miura Haru isn't sure what to think, or _do_.

Take the towel. Kiss him breathless. Squeal because she's naked, wet, and flushed from the still hot water trailing down from her hair in between her breasts and other, less appropriate places. She's not sure, and she's beating the air with her well-water soaked eyelashes, and feeding the blissful curve of his lips with her speechlessness. Of course he'd show up when she's taking a shower—or _finishing_ taking a shower. And of course, he would appear right as she's opening the door to retrieve her towel from the closet and her clothes from her bedroom.

He doesn't hand her the towel, but doesn't stare at her naked—and wet, let's not forget _wet_—body. "I knocked twice, but you didn't answer."

"That's because I was in the _shower_, Tsuna-san!" she exclaims, her moist, rosy face flushing bright beet red. She doesn't think to cross her arms over her breasts, even though he has some semblance of chastity. It's a question of how long that semblance is going to last, because she's noticing his eyes flicking downward a lot more now than when he first opened the door.

It's been thirty seconds, and he's becoming indecent.

Breathe, Haru, breathe.

"Can I have my towel, Tsuna-san?" It's almost awkward for Haru to ask. His lips just curve upward a bit higher, almost haughtily, as if he's attempting to be _brazen_ with her.

"I don't know, can you?"

Haru blushes—this isn't the _normal_ Tsuna-san. The normal Tsuna-san would hand her the towel, stutter and flush and scurry out of the room and down the stairs to find someplace to hide in order to escape her wrath. But this Tsuna-san… is teasing her, challenging her, _flirting_ with her? She has to wonder if that smile on his face is alluding to something else. Something more… Haru's not sure, _carnal_?

She's still not breathing, she's _still_ not breathing.

Haru, _breathe_.

Still. "_May_ I have my towel, Tsuna-san?"

"You'll have to come out here and get it."

Haru's breath catches, but she nevertheless complies, stepping out into the warm, afternoon light, feeling naked under his caramel brown gaze—that's because she is, but it feels worse than that, as if he's peeling her skin back to look directly at her vulnerabilities and weaknesses, her _femininity_—and this is when she crosses her arms over herself, and shifts uncomfortably under his scrutiny. _This isn't happening_, she tells herself, _this isn't Tsuna-san, this isn't Tsuna-san, this isn't Tsuna-san._

Who is she kidding—it's _Tsuna-san_ alright.

She feels something soft push against her, it's _not_ her towel. Her towel's close by though, hovering close to her lower back, grazing the dimples that smile against the base of her spine. It's an odd feeling, to have fingertips running up her side, to the inside corners of her elbows, the side of her breast, her shoulder, her neck, resting at her face. She wonders why he's caressing her so lovingly, so gently, and when she looks at him, there are only his eyes, his touch, and that idyllic grin quirking his mouth.

She can't breathe.

Thankfully, he breathes _for_ her: "I think you're dry enough now, Haru."

She's _not_ breathing—how can she, when he's practically _seducing_ her?

"Tsuna-san," she whispers. He pulls her ear closer with his hand, gentle and achingly slow.

"Hm?"

"Are you… drunk?" she asks, thinking it's the only explanation she can come up with, because it _is_. Either he's drunk, or she's losing her mind to these flutters and bursts of heat in her lower body. She's almost ashamed to say that she doesn't want him to stop touching her. But she knows that if he's drunk, he doesn't know what he's doing, and he'll regret it later.

Right?

His smile doesn't fall. "No, I'm not drunk."

"Then—"

"—_Haru_," he murmurs, right into her ear, sending chills running up and down her naked, naked, naked spine—she can't forget that she's naked, in his arms now, and still wet from her still steaming shower. "Am I… convincing?"

What.

_What?_

"Tsuna-san?" she asks, pulling away from him. He hands her the towel, and averts his eyes as she wraps it around herself, tucking the corner into the wrap just at her ribs. "What are you…?"

"Hibari-san says I'm not… I don't know, sincere enough with my advances," he mutters, his eyes still downcast. "I asked Suzuki-san the same question, and she said the same thing. Do you think I'm convincing enough?"

Oh.

_Oh_.

_That's_ all it is.

Stupid man pride.

"Oh," she says, her voice soft, "I see. Well, I suppose you are. Is there any reason why this is important?"

He blushes. "Well…"

"Tsuna-san," she presses, her tone somewhat forceful, but still coaxing. He twiddles his thumbs—it's so _Tsunayoshi_ that she almost smiles. If not for the sudden surge of warmth encircling her. She gasps in surprise.

"I think it'll be easier if I just _show_ you what I mean, okay?"

**.**

**end.**

* * *

**notes**: So yeah, Writer's Block strikes again. I had no inspiration for this, and then I started listening to "Gangnam Style" and it just like, hit me. I write the weirdest things when I listen to overplayed music. Seriously. Thank you for the feedback, everyone, oh, and guess what? It's _happy_.


	14. courage

—

**fourteen—**_**chime. **_

—

To him, _courage_ means more than just resolve, and flames, and X-Burner, and summer, and kisses in the rain, and trysts under the moon.

It's something that burns purer in her eyes, holds the hue of the sun in the palms of his hands, tastes like strawberries and honey on his lips. It's sweet, and splattered with summer dew, dappled with autumn leaves, cradled with spring-green fingers. It holds out through the bitterest of winter's temper tantrums, keeps him strong in the face of the sun's earnest, but constant glow.

It doesn't allow him to be subdued, doesn't allow him to bow his head, keeps the flame burning at the center of his forehead.

It doesn't allow him to pull away from Haru when she whispers, "I love you."

It doesn't allow him to stumble over his words when—for the first time—he murmurs her words back to her, "I love you too."

**.**

**end.**

* * *

**notes**: Sorry about the wait. I didn't have any ideas for this, so I just threw a bunch of pretty sentences together. I'll try to write something more productive next prompt. I promise. Thanks for the feedback though. Keep it up?


	15. you love me just the way that you should

—

**fifteen**—_**degrees. **_

—

There's a limit to the insanity she's willing to put up with—what she means by_ insanity_, is essentially the nerve that this adorkably stupid auburn-haired ball of compassion and idiocy currently slamming his door in her face has. He's beyond moronic, thinking that he isn't worthy of being loved by someone, or thinking that he's too stupid to be adored, and wanted, and cherished. She doesn't understand why he thinks that way—though she's got a fairly good idea, and it all stems from a certain black-capped infant patrolling the premises under the pretense of_ gardening_.

And she wonders where Sawada Tsunayoshi's ridiculous ideas come from—she rests her case.

But there's no getting around this_ wall_ he's put between them. It's like a stop sign: staring her down, holding her gaze, all the while teasing and taunting her with the soft, muffled pats of his socked feet pacing back and forth across his room. She knows he's in there, he knows she's out here. She knows, and he knows, but there's the door blocking her way. She has to find some way to overcome this—Haru knows she's never been one for patience, but with Tsunayoshi, it might as well be considered a virtue. So she fiddles with her skirt hem until her heart stops pounding and her lips stop tingling, until the sound of his voice is nothing more than a gentle lull in her ears.

She can hear him through the door—she can't translate his clipped, stutters and soft, gentle murmurs, but it almost sounds as if he's frustrated, and angry, and upset with _her_. She puts her ear to the door, and listens close, quieting her breathing like the spies in those movies do, focusing her senses on the lilts and rises of his voice. She wonders if he knows just how much she loves the sound of it, how much she wishes to hear it in her ears, whispering soft, sweet nothings as she falls asleep…

The doorknob jangles—

(it actually _rattles_)—

—startling Haru as the door pulls her into the room.

She stumbles across the threshold, and crashes into Tsunayoshi, and when the boy fails to steady himself, they fall to the floor in a heap of arms, legs, hands, and feet. His mouth parts against her ear, his breath warm, and soft, his chest rising and falling against hers. Haru has no mind to get off of him, even though there's space around them for her to roll to either side. She straddles him though, bracing herself above his winded, caramel eyes with her hands planted at each side of his head.

She crucifies him with her palms underneath her, and he doesn't resist—he only closes his eyes.

"Are you alright, Tsuna-san?" she asks, finding her voice despite the tingling in her ear. His wounded eyes open, and when he looks at her, his face is tired, exhausted, almost breathless. She wonders if she hurt him, and blinks, "Tsuna-san?"

His hand reaches up to her cheek, and brushes her hair back with the backs of his fingers. His touch is cautious, hesitant, and careful, but affectionate all the same. "I was stupid. So, stupid."

It's almost instinct to agree with him—it's on the tip of her tongue. But when his mouth curves into her favorite, tilted smile, she blushes into silence. His thumb brushes her glossy, flushed lips. She suddenly has the urge to kiss the living daylights of him, but restrains herself.

The glow in his eyes is back. "Reborn was right: you're serious, aren't you?"

"Huh?" His thumb grazes the underside of her eye as his gentle smile grows reckless. She wonders if _he's_ going to kiss her before _she_ can kiss him.

But he doesn't. He only strokes her cheek with his blissful grin settled proudly upon his features, catching the hue of the autumn sunlight streaming into the room through the windows. Haru tenses her legs at his sides, and sighs, only widening the burgeoning smirk on his face. She's sure that Hibari's rubbing off on him: they both tease too much for their own good.

"You're serious about me, and you, aren't you?" His voice is an intimate, subdued whisper as he reaches up with his other hand, cupping her face in both palms. "Even though I am who I am, you're still willing to stay with me even though you'll be in danger?"

This is an argument as old as whether or not Takeshi will stop playing baseball.

"Have you not been listening to anything I've said, Tsuna-san? I told you that I love you, and when a girl tells you how she feels, she always means it. So don't try to pull the—"

He takes her lips with his, silencing her. His lips are sweet, soft, and gentle on hers, nowhere near as rough as they look, and she doesn't fight him, kissing him back despite the fact that she knows she'll have to reapply her lip-gloss, because he's tracing the shape of the Cupid's Bow sitting atop the crest of her upper lip. He seems kind of hungry to her, but even if he is, he's still being careful with her, as if he might break her.

(She has to wonder if he actually can break her, with these hands that are holding the sides of her face so tenderly.)

Her eyes open to meet his when they pull back, and she knows hers are smoldering in the light of his. "Tsuna-san."

He sighs, "I think I can agree to it now. Sorry, for causing you trouble."

"You were stubborn, Tsuna-san, not the devil's child," she chastises, smiling as he does. He touches his lips to her forehead in the breeze, his breath ruffling her bangs. She sighs, whispers, "I love you, Tsuna-san."

And when he reaches for her, it never occurs to Haru that the door's still open.

**.**

**end.**

* * *

**notes**: The funny thing about study halls is that I never use them for homework. I use them to serve as the duration of time which I exercise my creative juices, hence this drabble. Thank you all for the feedback, and reviews, and favorites, and follows. I appreciate it, and I hope my drabbles live up to your expectations.


	16. one kiss at a time

—

**sixteen****—**_**acid. **_

—

There's one thing he's _never_ understood: a kiss.

He knows it's something that girls and mothers like to use to express affection, and—insert an instinctive shiver here—_love_. But he knows there's something else to it, that it's not just a quick peck on the cheek to help him sleep at night or a smooch that soundlessly implies the words _thank you_. Whenever he asks his mother what a kiss is, she tumbles into this long, _disgusting_ story that involves bed sheets, his insufferable father, and a bunch of other revolting words that make Tsunayoshi wish he'd never asked her in the first place. With Reborn, it's quite the contrary. Reborn doesn't explain it in detail; he keeps it brief, and easy to allow Tsunayoshi the chance to _fully get it_.

His explanation _burns_ Tsunayoshi's ears: _"It's a way of expressing the fact that you want to have sex_—_Hibari and Adelheid do it all the time." _

Reborn's right on the mark with the last call—Tsunayoshi won't, doesn't, and _can't_ deny that—but when Tsunayoshi asks Adelheid—the female in question—what she thinks a kiss is, she tells him to ask Hibari, and when he asks Hibari, Tsunayoshi gets an irritated snort, as well as a tonfa to the side of the face, apparently free of charge. He wonders if he's asking the _wrong_ people, but rethinks the statement when he recalls that Hibari and Adelheid are the most passionate of—this burns his tongue _just_ as fiercely as his ears—couples he knows.

(Excluding Mukuro and Kyouko. He's _still _trying to come to terms with their relationship—in more ways than one.)

_I wonder if I'll ever figure it out_, he thinks, walking down the street to God knows where. There're couples everywhere: snogging in the corners, holding hands as they walk down the street, couples sitting on benches resting their heads on each other's shoulders. Tsunayoshi doesn't understand the appeal of a relationship—he also doesn't understand how _Hibari_ of all people is in one—but watching the males and females skipping across the sidewalk hand-in-hand, he's beginning to see it. And now, just like every other male his age, he wants it too.

.

Somehow, without his knowledge, or desire, Haru just appears in front of him, asking for him to escort her—Tsunayoshi doesn't understand this, _what the heck is this, she's not a princess!—_to the amusement park. Lambo agrees instantly, and Tsunayoshi's not surprised. The kid's always asking to go to the amusement park, something about rides and cotton candy and other things that are lost on Tsunayoshi.

While Lambo's playing on the swings; she asks Tsunayoshi what's bothering him. He glances over at her, his caramel eyes quiet, taking in her appearance: her blouse is light on her milky skin, her cheeks are a lovely pink in the sunlight, her hair is wavy and loose, her eyes are smoldering under the autumn leaves. He wonders when—and _how_—she's become this beautiful without him noticing, and tosses around the idea that she's always been beautiful, that he's never noticed or cared to look.

Holy hell does he _regret it now_.

It burns on his tongue. "Nothing's wrong."

She gives him a knowing smile, her lips are curved in a haughty line, her eyebrow's lifted above her brown eyes, her hands are flat to the bench seat beneath them. He sighs—_there's no harm in asking Haru too_.

"I don't know what a kiss is," he confesses, his hands between his knees.

Her eyes widen in a soundless gasp, and her hands fly to her lips. He blinks, and shifts away from her, suddenly wary of an explosion or an exclamation or _another_ confession of love from her. But his caution is wasted. The only thing she does is close her eyes, reach into her pocket, and reapply the lip gloss she brushed off in her shock. Not only has she become more beautiful, she's also become more refined, and _demure_, much to his surprise. Once she finishes applying lip gloss, she coughs into her palm, and turns back to him with a soft, earnest smile.

"Please, continue, Tsuna-san," she says, her hands lying quiet on her lap. He slides back over to his previous position when she taps the empty space between them. "I won't touch you, I promise."

_Touch me? _

Still, he offers her a bit more information, "I've asked my mother, Reborn, Hibari-san, and Suzuki-san what a kiss is, and their explanations don't make any sense." _Or they scar me for life_; he wisely chooses to leave out. "I'm just curious, I guess. I know it's a way of showing how much you care about someone, but then again, Hibari-san doesn't care about others, and yet he kisses Suzuki-san all the time. I can't help but think that there's something else to it."

_Something else that I'm missing. _

He flicks his eyes to her, and meets her level, even gaze, "Do you know what I mean?"

"A kiss, huh?" she murmurs, as if testing the weight of the words on her tongue. Tasting them on her lips, feeling their acidity for herself. Tsunayoshi turns back to his knees, interlocking his fingers and closing his eyes. "Hibari-san might not look it, but he's a passionate and loving individual. He's better at expressing his emotions physically rather than with words."

"So, when he's stealing the breath out of Suzuki-san, he's telling her he loves her?" Tsunayoshi asks, giving Haru a sidelong glance. She shuts her left eye playfully, her lip curving upward into a naughty grin.

"Naturally," she replies, her tone filled to the brim with mischief. Tsunayoshi recognizes that tone, _and_ that word. He can't help but get wary again. "But then again, Suzuki-san lets him, doesn't she? And she kisses him back just as intensely, right?"

"How should I know—I don't stare!" he exclaims, scandalized at the thought. Her smile still doesn't fall, or wane, or weaken. It's still as proud and reckless upon her features as always. He has no choice but to give in, and smile too. A small laugh bubbles from his lips, and he looks back at her. "Thank you, Haru."

She blushes, but doesn't move from his fingertips when they brush hers: "You're welcome, Tsuna-san."

_This has to be the something I'm missing_, he thinks, as he reaches over for the side of her face with his free hand, _it's so simple, and basic, and easy to figure out_. He can't believe he missed it—Haru practically said it straight out, too. His fingertips graze the corner of her jaw, her eye, her lips, her forehead. He can't stop touching her, and it frightens him, but he doesn't stop. Desire swells inside him, boils just under the surface of his skin, waits for him to give in, to tumble the rest of the way, or to pull her closer with the hand on her face.

Her eyes close—he kisses her.

There's nothing else to it, he realizes.

A kiss is a kiss.

**.**

**end.**

* * *

**notes**: So much 1820 in this. And let's not forget the splash of 6995 as well. I ship both of those pairings—maybe not so much 6995, but 1820? _Hell yes_—so hard, so expect more appearances with them. Particularly Hibari and Adelheid. There's not enough of them on this site. Seriously. Thank you for the feedback, guys. Please keep it up?


	17. shoujo's a conspiracy

—

**seventeen—**_**opposite. **_

—

Falling in love isn't as easy as those shoujo manga make it, she can say that much.

He's got the makings of an atypical, shounen hero—he's weaker than most, hesitant and careful with the power he wields, always seeking to protect those around him, always keeps a close circle of friends within reach, a modest personality—and Haru? She's energetic, fiercely independent, and if she could be half as strong as Hana and half as beautiful as Kyouko, she'd rest a lot easier. She's a far cry from the typical shounen heroine, but a perfect match to the fieriest shoujo lead.

(And like typical shoujo tsundere, when she falls, she falls _hard_.)

But then he comes along, just as mysteriously and almost out-of-the-blue as manga _demands_ he should—when she's shielding herself with resistance and running from a love-soaked cloud of emotions—and asks her, _"What's wrong, Haru?"_ Her first, ingrained instinct is to lie, and say, _"Nothing."_, because, she supposes that's how to get the hero after at least one hundred chapters of development goes by.

She rebels though—what female in her right mind's going to wait for one hundred chapters to confess her feelings?

She takes his face, and blows through the confession-scene with flying colors.

**.**

**end.**

* * *

**notes**: So, yeah, Haru isn't a tsundere. I am. But if she could be classified as one, my headcanon says she'd be Type B in comparison to my Type A. Honestly, I think she's a tsundere. But a very, very laid-back one. I guess. Also, **thundercow** was my inspiration for this, so thank you, **thundercow**, for writing your amazing stories.

**notes2**: Thank you for the feedback everyone, could you please keep it up?


	18. cliches of hallway kissing

—

**eighteen—**_**slope. **_

—

Women were never the main thing on Tsunayoshi's mind. They always danced outside his peripheral, never coming close enough for him to touch or truly see, always hovering at a teasing, yet comfortable distance. He was never as interested in them as his classmates were, who lived, ate, and breathed humans of the female sex and were much more familiar in the subject than he was.

They don't like sweat, hell; they flinch away from anything that smells like physical activity and mothballs. They have millions, and millions of shirts—or are they called _blouses_?—stuffed into closets the size of his dinner table, and Tsunayoshi understands that those morning long home-spa treatments are just as important and necessary to them as hiding from Reborn is to him. These are the stories his classmates would tell him, be it by note, text message—just what _is_ that?—or an afternoon get-together.

Of course, Tsunayoshi takes these stories to heart: he keeps to the outskirts of the hallway, holds his eyes front, prays to God that _someone_ will watch his rear, and keep trouble from coming after him. Of course, he knows Hibari will step in if things get out of hand, but that's only if the sounds of chaos coming from the hallway are loud enough to divert his attention from the sound of Adelheid's voice as she… well, _pleases_ him. So, in essence, Tsunayoshi has no one to count on, no one reliable to dispel the blast of girlish energy sweeping through the corridor.

Only, this isn't an attack from behind. Rather, it's an attack from the front, and it's moving quickly.

He feels her energy shove into his senses before he sees her, cheeks puffed up and hair messily beautiful in comparison to the neat and orderly ponytail she usually sports. It falls against her face, framing two elegant strawberry-hued lips that are parting against a background of rosy cheeks. No sound comes from her mouth, and she's clutching something tightly in her hand—a box?—and now she's marching down the hallway like a woman on a mission, which Tsunayoshi assumes she is, considering the fact that _both_ of their schools are in session.

Tsunayoshi braces for the worst, but when she suddenly thrusts the box into his hand and grips his collar, he realizes that there's nothing he can do. She's got him right where she wants him, and even though he might want to run, hide, scream, grovel, she doesn't look like she'll let him off the hook that easily. He staggers back to rebalance himself, pulling her with him, and when he stabilizes himself, he glances back at her, meeting her eyes directly.

She blushes, and averts her eyes.

Huh. This is new.

"Sawada Tsunayoshi." She addresses him with his full name, something that doesn't blaze past him like the rest of her normal, if not weird actions. She never calls him by his full name. He blinks in confusion, still too stunned to speak yet. She takes this moment to continue. "You and I are going on a date."

What?

Then, she pulls him closer by his collar and kisses him full on the lips. He doesn't resist her, but he doesn't kiss her back. It's something new to him, the feeling that's flowing through his veins. Happiness? Satisfaction? Arousal? He can't name it, it's so different. Only after the hallway bursts into a ruckus and Hibari slides the Reception Room door open does she pull away, raise her hand to the side of his face, and grin.

He smiles back. "My house, at six?"

She shakes her head, and points to herself. "I've got a better idea—one that's more romantic."

Tsunayoshi raises his eyebrows.

"You promised, Tsuna-san," she says, touching her forehead to his, "that you'd take me to the amusement park."

Oh, right.

She kisses him again, this time more gently than her last one, but it's still as sweet as the first. It still renders him rather wobbly, as if he's standing on uneven ground. He can hear Hibari striding—rather, _stalking_—down the hallway toward them, Adelheid's heels clicking as she hurries after him. But Haru doesn't show any fear. She just kisses, and kisses, and kisses, her fingers still wrapped around his collar, and holding him close. It's one of those moments that he wishes could last forever, but when Hibari's hand comes down on his shoulder, he knows it's a pointless dream.

"Hey, herbivore."

Haru pulls back, and takes one step from Tsunayoshi, turning her head to Hibari at the same time Tsunayoshi does. The skylark says nothing, merely watches the two with narrowed blue eyes, searching for something. Tsunayoshi drops his head in a quick, exasperated sigh, before taking Haru's wrist in his fingers.

"I'll walk her back to her class, Hibari-san." The raven-haired boy raises an eyebrow—or at least seems to. "I'll be back in five minutes."

Hibari nods, giving Tsunayoshi his consent. Haru touches her chin to Tsunayoshi's shoulder, her lips close to his ear. "So, are you going to take me to the amusement park tonight, Tsuna-san?"

It's a breathless sound, all wrapped up in affection and the lingering static of flirtation, but in essence, Tsunayoshi knows what she's saying. When they reach the gates outside of school, out of earshot of the others as well as far away from the eyes of his classmates, he stops both himself and Haru, and touches his lips to her ear, breathing against her thick chocolate waves.

"Your house," he whispers, enticing a shiver from the brunette, "at six."

**.**

**end.**

* * *

**notes**: Sorry for the late update. This was meant to be for Valentine's Day, but I got so caught up in my Psycho-Pass feels that I couldn't finish this in time. So, here it is. Oh, and also, I created a new account called _shikiku_, where I'll be posting smaller, prettier things, like drabbles and short one-shots. Take a look? Also, thanks for the feedback guys, I won't make you wait this long again, I promise.


	19. watch the queen conquer

—

**nineteen—**_**empire. **_

—

When she glides down the steps, she isn't thinking about how fancy the dress she's wearing is, how elegant her hair looks, how kissable her lips are, or even her slightly crooked gait on the marble staircase—no, she isn't thinking about any of it.

There are princesses and queens and consorts and duchesses in the ballroom around her—all of them far prettier than Haru herself—all of them worthy of the comb she wears in her thick chocolate tresses, or the polished pink bell-sleeves embracing her arms. She feels out of place, for reasons other than the fact that this is a Mafia-related ball, and she's a sophomore in college studying fashion and design at least two or three countries over. She has no ground to stand on, and she knows it.

There's nothing for her to hold onto except for the love threaded into the seams she's wearing, and the fact that Sawada Tsunayoshi—the soon-to-be boss of Vongola's Tenth Generation—is smiling up at her from the foot of the staircase.

But it suddenly doesn't matter that she's in the presence of royalty, that she isn't pretty enough to stand toe-to-toe with the best of them, because Tsunayoshi's hand is under hers, guiding her toward the kingdom coming to life under the light of the chandeliers.

**.**

**end.**

* * *

**notes**: I've gotta admit, I sorta like this one. Don't know why. I didn't go crazy with the italics, and it's short, simple, and sweet. Seriously. Thank you for all your reviews so far, guys. Please tell me what you think of this one too?


	20. check the door

—

**twenty—**_**locks. **_

—

"Are you sure, Haru? I'm not the best at this sort of thing."

"Hahi, it's fine, Tsuna-san, I trust you."

"… That's not comforting, Haru."

"Sure it is. Just put your hands here, and here—"

"I don't really think this is a good idea."

"Why not, Tsuna-san? It's not like you're completely indecent."

"But this—"

"—Are you nervous, Tsuna-san?"

"W—What? I'm not _nervous_, it's just, well, I've never really… did this with anyone before."

"I'm your first?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, now it makes sense. Just give me a second to get comfortable, Tsuna-san."

"S—Sure, Haru."

"I'm all settled now. Just put your hands there, and there, and—"

"—And do it like this?"

"Yes… Just like… that…"

"I'm not hurting you?"

"Not… at all…"

"It doesn't hurt when I do this, does it?"

"… Ah…"

"… How about here?"

"Oh, that is—no, not there."

"Down here?"

"… _Hahi_, don't do it quite so hard!"

"S—Sorry!"

"… Ah, that feels good…"

"What about here?"

"No, no, go back!"

"Oh, I—I'm sorry."

"… Don't stop, Tsuna-san, that feels good."

"… Okay."

"… Keep your hands there, Tsuna-san, don't move."

"Is this spot really that tense?"

"Ah, Tsuna-san, that _tickles_!"

"Oh my god, Haru, I'm sorry!"

"… Did I say something wrong, Tsuna-san? It doesn't hurt at all, so keep going."

"R—Right."

"… This feels… nice…"

"Are you alright, Haru?"

"Just peachy."

"I'm going to move, okay?"

"… _No,_ _not there!_"

"I—I didn't mean to!"

"Relax, Tsuna-san, just—was that a _crack_ I heard just now?"

"A crack?"

"Tsuna-san, did you remember to close the door?"

"Of course, Haru, what're you—wait, now I heard it too."

"Check the door while I get dressed."

"Right."

"D—Don't open it so wide, it's cold!"

"S—Sorry. I don't see anything out here, Haru."

"That's a relief… Actually, I think I'm going to lie down, I feel sore."

"… I'm sorry, Haru. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"No, no, you didn't hurt me. It's actually a good kind of sore. I'm glad I did this with you, Tsuna-san."

"Y—you really think that?"

"Yes."

"Thank you."

"It's not a problem, Tsuna-san. Just let me lie down for a while, and I'll be able to let you do the other side."

"_W—What?!_"

**.**

**end.**

* * *

**notes**: Oh, the ways I torture Tsuna. I got Writer's Block again, so I wrote an innuendo, or two. Hopefully this isn't _too_ scarring. It's actually pretty tame compared to some of the others I've read in this format. Anyway, I hope you guys somehow enjoy this? Thank you for the feedback thus far.


	21. the hemingway code, grace under pressure

—

**twenty-one—**_**connection. **_

—

Her cellphone rings at three in the morning. It's loud in her ears as she reaches around her headboard for it, grumbling to herself. Of course, once her fingers wrap around the cellular device, she tumbles to the floor in a heap of flowery sheets and human limbs. When she recovers, she picks up the call, and narrows her eyes at the earpiece.

"You just made me fall out of bed, telemarketer, so this had _better_ be good." There's a slight breath on the mouthpiece from the other end—Haru pauses, uncertain of who, or what is talking to her. She just hopes it's _not_ the Mafia.

"_Haru._"

Her eyes close. Of course, it'd be Sawada Tsunayoshi calling at this ungodly hour. She knows the lilts and rises of his voice like the back of her hand. "Why are you calling, Tsuna-san, it's three in the morning."

He's never called her at this time before. He's never called her. Never—she's not kidding. This comes as a shock to her, simply because it's her crush on the other line, and she's not dressed, and her beauty sleep has been stolen from her, and all sorts of other ungodly things at this ungodly hour. His breathing is steady, melodic, almost as comforting as the wind blowing against her windowpane.

She wonders if he's flying.

"_Reborn told me you're_—"

Haru cuts him off. She has a feeling this is all a part of some Mafia-esque scheme of Reborn's and is mentally _damning the infant to hell and back_. "What did Reborn-chan tell you?"

"—_dating someone_," he finishes.

Suddenly, she's up off the floor, on her feet, running her fingers through her thick chocolate-brown locks. She's not sure what's brought all this on—yes, Reborn can be a convincing little devil child when he wants to be, but since when has Sawada Tsunayoshi given much thought about Haru's love life? Or love in general?

Yeah, he's definitely sleep-deprived.

"No. You and I are not going to have this conversation, Tsuna-san. I am going to go back to bed, pretend this is all a dream, and when I wake back up again, I am going to cobble up some boots to kick Reborn-chan's butt. End of story," she hisses into the mouthpiece.

There's silence.

Then:

"_Haru._"

Only her name.

And all of the fire dissipates.

She tumbles back to the floor again, and slides her face into her palm. She's definitely going to be insane by the time she hits twenty, hell, everyone's going to be insane by the time they hit twenty, she's absolutely positive Hibari's already there, maybe Hayato too.

"Fine. I won't beat you, or Reborn-chan. But you will hear about this later." She hears him smile—she thinks she can, considering the wind's quiet now on her window casement.

There's a soft tap on her roof, and it startles her.

"_Who?_" he asks. She blinks, and rises from the floor again, crossing the room to the window and glancing out of the glass square. There's nothing—except for a faint orange glow beaming from the backside of her house, toward the southern horizon.

"What?"

He sighs, "_Who, Haru?_"

His tone means to smother her fire once more.

"Takeshi-kun," she answers after a moment, settling down on the window seat, and propping her knees up against her chest. It's true—she likes Takeshi. He's goofy, and sunny, but he's—well. Naturally, he's not Tsunayoshi.

And that makes all the difference between happiness, and _just for now_.

"_I see._"

"Yeah, he took me out to the ice cream shop today, and we had fun," she says, blowing air over her newly clipped nails. She hopes its stabbing him over and over again—her tone grows sour, "How about you and Kyouko-chan? Did you have fun today?"

His breath catches—he's finally under pressure.

"_She enjoyed herself, I suppose,_" he replies, his voice remaining smooth, and steady, despite the fact that Haru knows it's killing him inside—her silent implication that she's angry with him, that she's bitter and cold, and pissed that he woke her up at three in the morning just to ask who her date was.

Honestly.

She sees a golden opportunity, and like the resourceful woman she is, she doesn't hesitate. "And what about you, _Sawada Tsunayoshi_?"

There's another tap on her roof—three more, _tap_, _tap_, _tap_. They sound like footsteps through the ceiling, and though Haru is afraid, barely dressed, and ravenous for some tea—_suddenly_, she's thirsty for hot tea—she doesn't hesitate to slide from her window seat, and pull on her gray cardigan to cover her lacy nightdress, and stroll into her hallway.

He finally speaks again. "_I enjoyed myself as well._"

"Well, I'm glad you had fun, at least," she drawls, leaning up against the doorframe. There's tension, maybe shifting on the other end of the line. There are more taps on her roof, and if Haru listens carefully, they sound like they're moving somewhere. So, she takes another step, and begins to follow them. "Where are you now?"

"_Playing video games with Lambo._" She curves her lip up, and smiles to herself. It's not in his capacity to lie—at least, that's what she thought. Then again, if the thing on her roof _isn't_ Tsunayoshi, then, well, she wouldn't be teasing him anymore.

"I don't hear him."

Another tap. "_He's asleep._"

She follows suit. "Then you aren't playing with him if he's asleep, are you, Tsuna-san?"

When a flurry of footfalls erupts from the roof above her, she has to barrel down the hallway, and listen closely to the direction the steps are leading her towards. She slides into her kitchenette, her eyes closing, her phone falling from her ear—one breath, two breaths, three breaths, his footsteps are gone. They're _gone_.

She glances all around her, straining for signs of something being there—she doesn't care if it's Hibari being on one of his night patrols, or the Varia raising hell down the street—but the only thing that announces something's presence to her, is the _pat_ of shoes hitting the steps outside her door, and the screeching _hum_ of what sounds like deathperation flames.

The door opens just as she reaches for it, revealing a winded—and blazing-eyed—Sawada Tsunayoshi to her sight, his gloves fading away into mittens, his flames blowing from his forehead, his orange, orange eyes dissipating into warm, caramel human ones in one of her heartbeats. He's flushed rosy with the cold, and when the wind hits her bare legs, a reaction crosses his face, and he steps into her flat, shutting the door behind him, and reaching for his headphones to push a button.

She glances at her phone, noting the flashing red box—_end of call. _

"Do I, get an explanation or something, Tsuna-san?" He doesn't answer. He just stares at her. One, two, three, four breaths pass, and she gives up. "I'm guessing no. Tea?"

There's no response.

(Is it too late to write off the idea that he's switched bodies with Hibari?)

She pours them both some tea. She stirs in her cinnamon and honey with extra care, smiling to herself when the scent drifts up to cloud and fog her senses. She hands him a cup of his own, noticing that he's managed to find the table in the darkness, and she wanders back to the hallway to flip the lights on.

When the lights brighten the contours of his face, she wobbles where she stands. She hopes he doesn't notice.

When his eyes flicker, she knows he does.

Haru tilts her head, and sits down next to him—close, but not touching. Steam rises from their cups of tea, and Tsunayoshi takes the first sip.

"Are you alright?" she asks, wanting to fill the silence.

He doesn't answer her, just flicks her a glance from the corner of his eye—wary, just like she is. She hates that she has to be on guard with him. She wishes she could rewind time and restart this conversation, beginning with her falling face-first onto her floor.

She glances away after a few moments, but it's the touch of his fingertips on her face that brings her back. He parts her wavy chocolate-colored hair back behind her ear, and doesn't pull away.

Haru stops still. Raises her eyes.

He kisses her like he's burning.

It feels like flying, and she fists his shirt in her hand, because she knows if she doesn't catch herself, she'll crash and crave until she hits the earth and it'll hurt. It's like a pair of wings and Tsunayoshi's her wind, the only push she could ever want or need.

Haru trembles with her eyes shut. "This is really romantic, Tsuna-san."

He smiles, and she can feel it breathing against the surface of her lips.

Their tea cups lose their warmth on the tabletop, neglected.

**.**

**end.**

* * *

**notes**: I owe the credit for this drabble/one-shot as well as style of writing to **sarsaparillia**, as well as her AU SasuSaku, surprisingly. _Read her stories._ I promise you that you won't regret it, 'cause I sure as hell don't. Anyway, thanks for the feedback, guys. Keep it up?


	22. catching lightning i

**notes**: Different format for this one—or bunch of them, rather_—_because this is going to be a set of connected drabbles based on one plot, or something my lovely friend, **_bells-mannequin_ **likes to call, a _lost scenes complex_. So, with that in mind, this is the first part in a set of drabbles that have a fluid plot. I'm not sure how long this is going to be, but we'll see.

**notes2**: As stated before, **_bells-mannequin_** owns the idea of a _lost scenes complex_, so therefore, I do not take credit for this. I also recommend you read hers, despite whether or not you ship 8086, because it's just that awesome. Thank you, and enjoy. Hopefully.

* * *

**CATCHING LIGHTNING**

_part one—_  
**needle**

* * *

_(our forever is never forgotten,_  
_only lost to the winds of change)_

He's never liked goodbyes—he's always placed so much hope on the _hellos_, and the _see you agains_, and the promises of stopping by later that the weight of _goodbye_ has never touched him. But this time, standing on her rain-soaked door, his black sweatshirt soaked to his skin, Sawada Tsunayoshi knows this isn't a _see you again _or _i'll be back later_. This is a _goodbye_, and it hurts.

He wrings his fingers out within the sleeves of his jacket, before rapping his knuckles against her wooden door. He's rehearsed this scene over and over in his mind since he set foot on her property—why can't he remember his lines now? As he fumbles for words, the door opens to reveal a flushed, but modestly dressed Miura Haru—he can't stop his eyes from sweeping up from her pale, creamy feet to take in her entire frame, can't hold back the sigh of wonder at her appearance—her hair tumbling over her shoulders.

Two moments pass—their eyes are pushing and pulling against each other, and Tsunayoshi's breath catches, his hands tensing in his pockets, the skin above the edge of her lacy dress trembling—before she takes a step back, and drops her head, "Hana-chan told me you'd be coming."

Kurokawa?

He doesn't recall telling her anything about this. He just remembers telling Takeshi, Hayato, Ryohei, Chrome, and Hibari about it—_definitely_ not the girls. He has to suppose it's Ryohei's doing, just because Hana is his sister's best friend, as well as his lover. And of course, at the thought of _lover_, his heart starts aching and clenching in his chest, stabbing against the inside of his ribs.

He closes his eyes and avoids turning in her direction. "You know about it?"

"Yes," Haru answers, shutting the door behind him, and crossing her arms over her chest. He can feel her anger through his back—it's like pin-pricks underneath the wet fabric of his shirt and sweatshirt, unbearably cold. "And I think it's stupid. We knew it was dangerous going into this—_all_ of us."

He knows she's referring to the girls when she says _all of us_. It doesn't stop him from replying, "That doesn't mean we shouldn't have done it, Haru."

"Why not?" she demands, lashing her tongue. He _can't_ face her—not with her fire burning upon the air behind him. She's storming toward him, her footsteps heavy and weighted on the wooden floor panels. Her voice is rising—he's thankful that it's only them in the house at the moment—as she repeats forcefully, "Why not, _Sawada Tsunayoshi_?"

This pulls one caramel eye over his shoulder. "Because, it's reckless."

"_Reckless_, huh?" she asks, her tone ice-cold, her expression pointed, "That's the best reason you can come up with—just that it's reckless? What's wrong with us wanting to protect you? Suzuki-san can do it, so why can't we?"

"Because she's—"

"—strong?" she interrupts, closing her eyes, turning from him. "Because she knows how to fight, and how to protect herself, and how to wield flames and box weapons? And how do you think she learned how to do all of those things?"

He doesn't like where this conversation is going—he knows Haru's driven him into a corner, a tight, tight, airless corner that he has no hope of escaping without giving in to her. He _hates_ this corner, hates the box she's drawing around his feet, tucking the line closer and closer to his toes as she goes. He doesn't have a hope of escaping—she has his hands tied.

The only thing he can do is hold his silence, and gaze at her with his lone, chestnut eye.

Her expression flashes with desperation. "Say something. Anything."

He doesn't—he only turns his whole body to face her, leaving himself vulnerable and exposed, but doesn't say anything, doesn't breathe. It's only his eyes and her eyes, just the push and pull of their emotions in the air between them. He knows she's desperate for him to comfort her, to assure her that everything's going to be alright. But he doesn't have the heart to lie to her.

And she knows it.

She laughs—it's an achingly bitter sound. "So that's it, then?"

He nods soundlessly.

"You're not going to take _our_ feelings into consideration?"

He shakes his head—not this time.

"I can't _believe_ you, Sawada Tsunayoshi," she snaps, slamming her foot into the wooden floor. She's thundering across the floor—charging straight for him—once more, reaching for his collar and bringing him in close, "Is this going to be your solution to everything that scares you? Just tell me to run and hide and wait until the danger's cleared? Tell me to stand on the sidelines and watch you and everyone else tear yourselves apart while protecting me and the others? We're not _helpless_, you know. I'm taking self-defense classes this year. Kyouko-chan is too. Oh, and Hana-chan's starting next week. Did you know that?"

The closeness of her face—her lips, actually—her voice, and her eyes doesn't help his resolve in staying strong.

His eyes are half-lidded now, frailer than marble, averted from her bristling cinnamon irises. "I'm sorry, Haru."

"Let me and the others come with you," Haru answers, her eyes narrowing.

She should know what his answer will be—regardless, "I can't."

And then, she falls silent. There's nothing between them at that moment, and though he feels her loosen her grasp on his collar, take a step back, catch her breath, she says nothing else. The look in her eyes is tearful, but strong, so, hopelessly strong that regret creeps along the slopes of his lips, but he doesn't comfort her. He has to be strong this time—this decision is one that has to be followed through. This is something he can't push aside. He can't lose her, not to this. Not to the world he so desperately despises.

The world he seeks to change.

"This is goodbye, then, Sawada Tsunayoshi," she replies—her voice is hollow, shaking, quivering. The walls he built up to render him impervious to her plight crumble the instant her voice touches them. Her forehead is grazing his shoulder; her fingers are trembling against his skin. He feels them, and hangs his head, screwing his eyes shut tight.

"I'm sorry, Haru," he whispers, earning a choked gasp against his shirt, "I'm so sorry."

She raises her face suddenly, and he gazes back at her levelly, evenly despite his surprise. His expression is as distraught and anguished as hers, but he doesn't say anything more—just lifts the very tips of his fingers to the side of her face, and closes his eyes under his thick, heavy auburn bangs. The rainwater—long forgotten, but present now—slides down the sides of his face, dripping to the floor. The soft _plips_ become the only sound in the room, as they remain still, looking into each other's eyes.

Her hand falls from his collar. His hand drifts from the side of her face, sliding back into his pocket, as he takes a step toward the door. As he reaches for it, he murmurs, "I care about you, Haru. That's why I can't allow you to come with us."

"I know," she answers—there's something breaking in her voice, he hears it, and catches it, but doesn't cling to it. There's nothing for him to hold onto, except for the doorknob—it's rattling in his hands, his hands are _shaking_. He closes his eyes, and pushes the door open with his shoulder as he turns the handle, only to be faced with two soaking wet humans laughing and giggling on the porch step arm in arm. Haru's voice glides into the air from behind him, "Mother, Father."

"Oh, Haru, you're home? And Tsunayoshi-kun too!" Haru's mother, Yukari, giggles out in delight. The auburn-haired boy manages a weak smile, and a faint, _hello_, before brushing past the brunette and entering the pouring down rain. Yukari's husband—Seiya—looks up from the bags in his free-arm, and smiles when he catches sight of Tsunayoshi.

"You're not staying for dinner?"

"My, that sounds like a wonderful idea—Tsunayoshi-kun, do you want to stay for dinner?" Yukari asks; hope shimmering from each plane of her face. He doesn't get to answer for himself, because Haru's already stepping across the threshold, and giving him a bitter, angry glare.

"No," she says, her tone clipped, and cold as she takes her parents' arms and pushes them into the house, "he was just leaving."

Tsunayoshi closes his eyes, and turns back to the front gate. "My mother wants me home for dinner this time, Miura-san. Maybe another day?"

Ignoring her irate daughter completely, Yukari answers, "That's fine. Well, it was nice seeing you, Tsunayoshi-kun."

He smiles back at her from over his shoulder—he notices Haru's irises waver at the sight of her favorite tilted smile—before lifting one of his hands to wave back to her. Yukari automatically waves back, along with Seiya, but Haru hesitates—when she doesn't wave back, he closes his eyes again, and starts for the front gate, pushing the white fence aside, and begins down the sidewalk, heedless of the frosted rain tumbling from the sky above his head.

There's nothing he can do now but hope she understands.

Eventually.

**.**

**tbc.**

* * *

**notes**: Review? Tell me what you think? Read bells-mannequin's drabbles, one-shots, goodies? (Thank you for the feedback.)


	23. catching lightning ii

**notes**: So, yeah, I've been trying to think of a title for this complex, and one continues to escape me. Once I figure out what to name it, I'll change the names of all the chapters, and fix the headline within the page breaks, okay?

**edittonotes**: I thought of a title, finally!

**notes2**: As stated in the first segment, **_bells-mannequin_** owns the idea of a _lost scenes complex_, so therefore, I do not take credit for this. I also recommend you read hers, despite whether or not you ship 8086, because it's _still_ just that awesome. Thank you.

* * *

**CATCHING LIGHTNING**

_part two—_**  
****roads**

* * *

_(we, as one,_  
_cannot be further apart)_

Haru doesn't believe in convents—never has, never will—but she _does_ believe in the Knights of the Round Table. She believes in those stories about Camelot, Lancelot, Tristan, Isolde, knights, princes, princesses, _Excalibur_—she remembers telling Tsunayoshi that he reminds her of King Arthur: always putting the greater good ahead of himself, never keeping, always giving, and giving, and losing in the end. She knows, and yet she can't stop herself from becoming angry the moment her mind flashes back—his heart beneath her hand, his lips grazing the crown of her head, his voice, a whisper, _i'm sorry, haru, i'm so sorry_—and replays the same breaths over and over again.

She folds her hands on the tabletop; her phone is silent atop her notebook. There's no leniency in their voices when Adelheid, Hana, and Kyouko ask, _what happened_, and though she knows they only want to help—Adelheid's presence is questionable, _surely_ she'd rather be with her brooding skylark than with them—she doesn't drain the fight from her voice when she says, "Tsuna-san and I broke up, and that's all there is to it."

Then, of course, Kyouko bats her eyelashes, and Haru suddenly has this inexplicable _need_ to explain herself.

But it takes a mixture of Hana asking _why_ and Adelheid's signature dagger glare to keep her talking. "He's not thinking about how we—_I_—feel about this. I asked him if he's taking our feelings into consideration, and he just shook his head. He's so stupid—_this_ is so stupid."

Hana snorts, and takes a sip of the tea Kyouko slides over to her. "Tell me about it. Sawada's always been thick-headed, at least when it comes to girls. I honestly don't know how you put up with it, Haru. Seriously." She sloshes the tea cup in one hand, lying her cheek in the other. "Then again, Ryohei's not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed either."

Kyouko sighs, and sits down beside her best friend, sliding another cup to the silent Adelheid, who's brooding at Haru's left. She's more than likely missing Hibari—the _silence_ that comes with him. Kyouko hands Haru her favorite cinnamon-honey mixture, and smiles gently at the brunette. "Tsuna-kun's only trying to keep us safe, Haru-chan. He always is."

"But I thought we were past it," Haru replies, taking a sip of her tea. The familiar taste soothes the ache in her throat, washes her anger, her confusion, her resistance, her worries into the past—into the one moment her mind—her palm, her head, her ears—refuses to forget. She sets her cup down with a trembling hand, continues, "I thought you and I brought it to their attention that we _don't_ want to be left out anymore. And I also thought that you and I are taking self-defense classes so that we can protect ourselves in case some dangerous person comes after us. I don't understand what he's trying to protect us from this time. We know about the Vongola, their box weapons, their flames. We know everything—what else is there to hide?"

Kyouko doesn't respond. She takes a sip of her peach tea, her golden eyes falling shut as she does so. Hana sloshes her drink in her fingertips, clearly bored, and displeased. Adelheid's as steadfast in her silence as always, only she's drinking from her cup as well, leaving Haru to believe that they want her to continue—or add something else. But Haru has nothing else. Tsunayoshi didn't tell her anything else. Everything about this decision of his she learned from Hana—or, if Haru wants to be technical, Ryohei, and even more technical, _Tsunayoshi_ himself—and Hana didn't learn much.

Hana sighs. "Look. I don't know anything about this Vongola thing, so I'm not exactly on board with this whole suffrage movement you guys have going on, but it still pisses me off that my boyfriend thinks it's okay to hide something like this from me. It's like he trusts _Sawada_ more than me, and that's not okay with me."

Haru turns to Adelheid. "What about Hibari-san? Did he tell you anything?"

"No," she answers, taking another sip from her tea. "I learned of this situation from Enma, my boss. I consulted with Hibari Kyouya about it, but, he's as stubborn as always. He's as adamant about this as Sawada Tsunayoshi."

"Well, wonderful," Hana puts in, closing her eyes. Adelheid sets her tea cup down, and folds her arms over her chest, her blood-red eyes suddenly gentle, if not smoldering in the dim candlelight.

Haru recognizes that look—her eyes close briefly, before she turns to face Adelheid. There's an apology in her eyes, but she knows Adelheid won't accept it—the Glacier Guardian is every bit as unyielding as her element. Regardless, she says, "I'm sorry, Suzuki-san."

"Don't misunderstand me. I am leaving with them. But Hibari Kyouya was just as adamant about keeping you away from the battlefield as Sawada Tsunayoshi."

Then, it clicks—and it clicks _hard_.

But before Haru can say anything, Hana's already opening her mouth. "Hold on, stop the car," she says, holding a palm out, "they're _fighting_? Kyouko's dimwit of a brother—no offense, Kyouko—is going off to Italy to fight in these underground wars _just_ because _Sawada's_ asking him to?"

"Yes," Adelheid replies, closing her eyes. "It's the natural way of things. Sasagawa Ryohei is Sawada Tsunayoshi's Sun Guardian. Therefore, it is Sasagawa Ryohei's duty to obey him without question."

Haru's irises tremble. She didn't know—she had no idea that that's what Tsunayoshi was hiding from her, that _that's_ what he wants to protect her from. Vongola is in trouble again, and naturally because Haru and the others cannot wield deathperation flames, they would be in danger if Tsunayoshi brought them with him to Italy. Haru begins to see his logic, to see why he's so resolute in leaving them behind. But the hurt, the pain, the sadness is still there—he didn't tell her that Vongola's in danger again, _does that mean he doesn't trust me?_

_Don't be stupid_, her heart whispers, _he loves you_.

_He doesn't want you to get hurt. _

Adelheid turns to Haru—her crimson eyes are gentle, even as she's narrowing them over the rim of her tea cup. "Do you understand now? This thing you wanted to know about, and would do anything to figure out? While I understand your curiosity, and your willingness to be beside him, can you imagine how much it must have hurt him to make this decision in the first place?"

Her words pierce deep. They're like a stake in her chest—Haru doesn't breathe, blink her eyes, sip her tea even though it's calling from her from the tabletop. She's paralyzed by her guilt—the stake—immobile because she knows _she_ did this, _she's_ the reason he's fighting alone. She knows she wants to help, she wants to fight and protect Vongola just as much as he does, but he's right. She can't wield deathperation flames, and she doesn't have a box weapon, or even a weapon in general. She doesn't even know what class of flame she is, though she has ideas.

It only takes a moment.

"Suzuki-san." Adelheid blinks, but regards the brunette with her scarlet irises. Hana and Kyouko turn to Haru as well, watching with quiet eyes. Haru raises her face to the Glacier Guardian—something's rising inside her, her body feels so light—"Teach me how to wield deathperation flames."

Adelheid raises an eyebrow.

"Please," Haru adds, dipping her head. Hana spits her tea out onto the table in shock. Kyouko pats her hands to her mouth, demure even in surprise. Adelheid's irises are steady, level as she gazes into Haru's auburn ones. Haru is suddenly _deadly serious_—she knows Adelheid can sense this change from between the distance between them. Haru isn't lying—she wants to prove herself. "I want to help Tsuna-san as best I can. The only way I can truly help him is if I'm fighting alongside him, not from behind him."

"H—Haru, are you _sure_?" Hana coughs out, slamming a palm down on the table. Adelheid nods once, swiveling her eyes back to Haru. "Those flames are _dangerous_. Mafia people use them."

"She's right," Adelheid adds, sighing, and leaning back. "These flames aren't to be taken lightly. You can't wield them with flimsy resolve. You have to _want_ to wield them. Not only that, but once you've established the fact that you can use them, you'll always be a target by enemy families. Are you prepared for that? Are you ready for your life to always be on the line?"

Kyouko closes her eyes. "Onii-chan once told me that not all flames are used to attack."

"That's certainly true," Adelheid answers, holding her tea cup to Kyouko. The chestnut-haired girl is at first confused by Adelheid's silent request, but when Adelheid's eyes flash to the tea pot, Kyouko smiles, and nods before pouring more tea into Adelheid's empty cup. Adelheid murmurs a quiet, _thank you_, and takes a sip, before continuing, "Not all flames are used to attack. Some are used for defense, and others are used for healing as well. It all depends on the class of the flame the user wields."

Haru watches with wonder as Adelheid holds out her right hand—soft, powder blue light brims from the small band around her finger not a heartbeat later.

"My flame is of the Glacier-class," Adelheid adds, her dark hair dancing in the frosted breath blowing from her hand. Hana watches with interest, sloshing her cup in her fingertips, but interested nonetheless. Kyouko and Haru wear the same expression—they've seen firsthand what this power can do: X-Burner, Trinisette, _damage_, _damage_, _damage_. "It's dexterous in the sense that it can be used for both attacking _and_ defending. But like all flames, it has a weakness. Hibari Kyouya certainly wasted no time in exploiting it to me."

Adelheid shifts her gaze to Haru, and Haru alone.

"Are you certain?" she asks, no trace of leniency in her tone. "I will teach you if you're sure."

Kyouko glances at Haru, and takes her hand in hers. "I'm with you as well, Haru. I want to be able to protect everyone too."

"If Kyouko's going to be using them," Hana starts, setting her tea cup down on the wooden table, "I will be too. There's strength in numbers."

Haru and Kyouko—despite their surprise—each hold a hand out to Hana, and another to Adelheid. Though the Glacier Guardian initially flinches away from their hold, Haru manages to catch her ring hand in hers, and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Suzuki-san," she says, voice strong, tone resolute, irises solid, "teach us how to wield them."

There's hesitation in Adelheid's eyes.

Then:

"Of course."

**.**

**tbc.**

* * *

**notes**: Thanks for the feedback everyone, as always. And, well, hopefully I don't take as long again. In the meantime, read **bells-mannequin's**. Thanks again.


	24. catching lightning iii

**notes**: So, Psycho-Pass ended this week. _Kougami Shinya_ will forever be one of my favorite male anime characters. Anyway. I'm sorry this update took me so long to write. I will hurry along with the next one, assuming that school allows me to post something during this next week or so.

**notes2**: As stated in the first segment, **_bells-mannequin_** owns the idea of a _lost scenes complex_, so therefore, I do not take credit for this. I also recommend you read hers, despite whether or not you ship 8086, because it's _still_ just that awesome. Thank you.

* * *

**CATCHING LIGHTNING**

_part three—_******  
****range**

* * *

_(you, too,_  
_are in this plastic, beautiful world)_

Sometimes, Tsunayoshi has to wonder if Reborn _really_ does care for his safety. This is _insanity_—Reborn has to be mentally ill, or have an even larger pole up his ass than Tsunayoshi originally thought in order to come up with a plan this sick _and_ still be able to _beam _like he is. It's only because Natsu's on his left shoulder that he battens the hatches on his eardrums, and arrives at his destination—his stomach sloshes under his skin, his caramel eyes screwing shut tight. He hasn't felt this afraid for his life in, what? Well—since they returned from _that_ future.

… which happens to be his reason for being here.

On Xanxus's doorstep.

"He's going to _kill_ me," Tsunayoshi swallows, earning a nervous lick from his box weapon. Reborn pats the slope of Tsunayoshi's collarbone rather sharply—his touch stings, and Tsunayoshi flinches away from it, before adding, "And roast me for dinner, because he's a freaking sadist."

Reborn only smirks—he's the devil's child, alright. "If you're going to be the Boss, you've got to learn how to deal with people like Xanxus. It's only natural."

"_Deal_ with him?!" Tsunayoshi explodes, slamming the sole of his sneaker to the cement porch—hell, it isn't even a _porch_, it's a freaking veranda or something attached to the front of a castle—_pam_. Reborn's smile only broadens. "There's no _dealing_ with Xanxus! He'll kill me before I can even get in the door, Reborn, and you know it!"

"So?" Tsunayoshi blinks, and sighs in exasperation. So? Is Reborn kidding? _So?_—he's nuts. Reborn hops off Tsunayoshi's shoulder, and using the crook of the brunet's arm, slides down to the pocket in his favorite black sweatshirt. "You've got your mittens, pills, and box weapon with you. It's also natural to use force to—"

(And Xanxus has two guns, a lion/tiger hybrid mix, flames of pure rage, and six ravenous subordinates that go bat-shit nuts when they smell blood.)

"—But I don't _want_ to fight him, he'll _destroy_ me!"

If not for the presence of Natsu, Tsunayoshi knows the barrel of Reborn's gun would be pushing out Sun flames this side of nuclear at his comment. That doesn't mean the infant isn't intending on punishing him for whining—a sharp kick to his ribs reminds Tsunayoshi that this is _Reborn_ he's dealing with, not Hayato or Takeshi who don't mind if Tsunayoshi whines and moans every once in a while.

(_Please_. Once in a while—he never expects there to be some part of him capable of such a blatant lie.)

But all Reborn says is this: "That's the point."

"_Haaaahhhh_?!"

It only takes a moment for the door to splinter apart into charred pieces of wood—_"It's Xanxus, it's Xanxus, holy crap, I'm __**so**__ in for it!"_—hell, they're not even _pieces_ anymore. They're barely even ashes, just whispers of the proud, oak structure that had temporarily protected Tsunayoshi, Reborn, and Natsu from the raucous Xanxus's wrath. So much for leaving with his head firmly attached to his neck.

He might as well start saying his goodbyes.

"Oh, my, it's Sawada Tsunayoshi!" The brunet instinctively cringes, and hides his face behind a mitten-covered palm, and moans into his hand, praying the heavens above that someone—God, Amaterasu, that hot guy from Haru's favorite crime manga that looks _just_ like Hibari—decides to take pity on him and scrap these next few pages in favor of a happier ending to this story.

And of course, when Xanxus roars, Tsunayoshi knows that nothing happy is going to happen in the next two point five seconds.

(Cue the typical Varia shenanigans.)

_Damn it. _

"Sawada, huh?" And sure enough, the bastard himself is standing in front of the small, cowering brunet, cocking his guns in his hands and narrowing his eyes. "Piece of shit. What made you think you're welcome on my property?"

Glad to know his shit-poor attitude's as _stellar_ as always.

"Talk, trash. I asked you a question," Xanxus continues, leveling a hissing gun at the teenager's forehead. "If you don't want your head blown off, _speak_."

Reborn smirks, covers his mouth—trembles a bit? Tsunayoshi flicks a glance in Reborn's direction, only to be drawn back to Xanxus's _smoking_ barrel with the scent of singeing hair and the hiss of flesh being seared. He hops back, patting a palm to his forehead, and squeals in pain, something he knows irritates Xanxus—there is _no_ place in this world for goddamn weaklings that scream over a little _burn_—but he cannot help but do so anyway. It's only after Xanxus fires a warning shot just beside Tsunayoshi's left ear that he regains his composure—

_Real _quick.

"X—Xanxus," Tsunayoshi starts, unsure of how to address the older, stronger, scarier man seething in front of him. The irritation's just pouring off of Xanxus in waves. He doesn't need his Hyper Intuition to tell him that he is _not_ welcome. So, he takes the easy way out: "Reborn said to—"

"—Don't use me as an excuse, Stupid-Tsuna," Reborn interrupts, landing a sharp kick to the side of Tsunayoshi's face. "He's your subordinate. Learn how to talk to him."

_Now_ the gun's aiming for _Reborn_. "Listen, infant. I ain't working for Sawada."

Now _Reborn's_ aiming a gun at _Xanxus_. "Are you _sure_ you want to do that?"

And now Tsunayoshi's cowering on the porch between the two of them, his knees to his chest, hands to his ears, rocking himself back and forth, "Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop—"

"—Shut up." It's unanimously spoken. Tsunayoshi looks up to see two pistols absorbing flame—Sky and Sun, respectively—about two centimeters from both temples. This isn't the way Tsunayoshi pictures himself dying. Hell, he's _never_ pictured himself dying. It's not in the game plan, or whatever the hell Takeshi likes to call it.

Hence, he swallows two pills, raises his frosting palms to the barrels of the guns, lowers them, and says, "_Enough._"

And they stop—_both_ of them.

There's a moment of pause between the three of them—there's nothing but the sounds of Sky and Sun flames reaching and cresting the lilts of the powdered wind, Tsunayoshi's frost breathing, Xanxus's seething, and Reborn's lip curving upwards into one of the smuggest of smirks Tsunayoshi's ever seen, on _his_ mug at least—the ice blowing from Tsunayoshi's hands grazes Xanxus's cheek, and the man makes no effort to hide his discomfort, flinching the moment the frost touches his skin. Reborn doesn't sit still under its touch either—Natsu shivers against Tsunayoshi's auburn hair.

His orange eyes smolder quietly. "Xanxus."

"What do you want, _scum_?" It's a demand—his glove reaches for Xanxus's gun barrel once more. He knows the assassin will take his hand as a challenge, somewhere deep inside, Tsunayoshi isn't afraid of the reflexive glare the man shoots him. "Piece of shit. Get your filthy hand off of my weapon."

"You know why we're here, don't you?" He forces his voice to remain calm, quiet, level. There can't be any arcs or slopes when dealing with types like Xanxus. He's one of those that are sensitive to things like inflection and tone—_just like Reborn and Hibari-san. _But Tsunayoshi knows he has to form some semblance of dominance. His ice screeches from his hands, shattering the sunlight into all the colors of the rainbow—a threat. "I need your help."

"Get out of my sight, trash."

He clenches his hand on the barrel of the gun, freezes the very edge of it. Xanxus's eyes widen for a moment, but other than that, there's no obvious reaction. "I'll only ask you one more time, Xanxus. I need your help."

Xanxus raises his other gun from Reborn's temple, and presses it against the flame knocking from Tsunayoshi's forehead. "And I'll only repeat myself so many times, little shit. Don't test me. I _will_ blow your head off."

Tsunayoshi encases the first gun in ice without any further hesitation. "I will freeze the other as well, Xanxus. Help me."

The gun resting against Tsunayoshi's forehead pulls flames into its barrel from Xanxus's hand. It's a familiar sound, one that brings both nostalgia and dread to Tsunayoshi's mind, but also to the free hand at Tsunayoshi's side. Acting quickly, he releases the first gun and pushes himself out of the way of the bullet shot, sliding down across the pavement with flames bursting from his hands. Xanxus is no fool: he knows Tsunayoshi has agility and nimbleness going for him, but in terms of experience, they're far from equal.

Xanxus fires multiple bullets into Tsunayoshi's general vicinity, guiding the brunet into the position he wants the piece of trash to be. He falls right into Xanxus's trap, as he expects. Tsunayoshi's box weapon growls at his shoulder—not a moment later, and Tsunayoshi's holding his cape with one arm, protecting his vulnerable left side. Tsunayoshi pushes the flames from his left arm with an irritable snort, narrowing his irises from under dancing shards of harmonious runoff and milk chocolate bangs.

Their eyes lock.

_I can't fight them on my own. _

_Xanxus. _

_Help me. _

And even though the assassin is known for his tenacious and brusque ways, there's something in the little shit's eyes that stops him. He doesn't want to submit—he _hates _Sawada Tsunayoshi with a passion greater than Yamamoto Takeshi's love for baseball—he doesn't want to give in, but when Reborn raises his hand to his fedora, allowing his chameleon to climb back to its perch, he notices the hostile intent decrease by _at least_ fifty percent. Tsunayoshi's still standing strong behind his protective cloak, his eyes steadfast behind the curtain of autumn orange flames at his forehead, and he can tell by the brief closing of Xanxus's eyes, there's hesitation.

Tsunayoshi says, "You won't fight?"

"Listen, piece of shit." Xanxus's eyes are shadowed, his frozen gun lifeless at his feet, the other pulsing with deathperation flames, "I ain't working for you. But if that old man is the reason you're pissing me off—"

"—Thank you, Xanxus," Tsunayoshi replies, holding out his left arm. Natsu pulls himself back into his lion-cub form, his delicate paws hitting Tsunayoshi's shoulder a second later. Tsunayoshi's flames blow from his forehead, leaving _human_ eyes in their wake. "Thank you very much."

"Shut up." The door slams shut not even a moment later. Reborn smirks, and glances up at the stunned, shocked brunet, and sighs.

"You're still hopeless, Stupid-Tsuna."

Tsunayoshi's sneaker hits the pavement. "Wha—I _convinced_ him, didn't I?"

Reborn _grins_.

"Doesn't change anything."

**.**

**tbc.  
**

* * *

**notes**: Have I ever mentioned how much I love writing Xanxus and Reborn? No? Well, I just did. Thank you for the feedback everyone. Keep it up? (Oh, and a reminder: I still own nothing.)


	25. catching lightning iv

**notes**: Well. This one came quickly. I may have to go back and edit this because it seems rushed to me, but whatever. This is an early one just because I'm going to be busy this week_—_essay, logs, readings, tests, the usual_—_and I don't know when I'll be able to update again. So, hopefully this'll suffice?

**notes2**: As stated in the first, second, and third segments, **_bells-mannequin_** owns the idea of a _lost scenes complex_, so therefore, I do not take credit for this. I also recommend you read hers, despite whether or not you ship 8086, because it's _still_ just that awesome. Thank you.

* * *

**CATCHING LIGHTNING**

_part four—_**********  
****project**

* * *

_(i can finally see, _  
_where you go when you're gone)_

Two days later, Haru and the girls try to light the rings.

She knows she'll never boast a box weapon—not one like her loveable Natsu—she likes to think it's because her resolve is merely a whisper in comparison to the burning flames that seem to envelop Tsunayoshi's hands with ease. It's habitual for him, routine to wield them without fear—she accepts this fact without question, and acknowledges the truth that even if she does master the secrets of the rings and their respective flames, she won't be able to protect herself with them. That is why she figures her flame class is not that of Lightning.

Regardless of what Haru thinks, Adelheid hands her a Lightning-class ring. It's heavy in her palm, sears into her skin as if knowing she's not meant to wield its power. She knows rings have hearts and minds of their own—she's stumbled upon Tsunayoshi speaking to his on more than one occasion—and thus attempts to appease it by sliding it onto her finger and closing her eyes, _please, help me, i want to get stronger._ She repeats these words over and over in her head, coaxing the small metal band, whispering to the jade orb settled within its center as if its heart is listening—_i want to get stronger._

"Don't expect this to be easy," Adelheid coaches from beside the brunette, her arms crossed over her chest. Haru opens her eyes, and turns to the Glacier Guardian, her cinnamon eyes discouraged, but not entirely broken. Red eyes flicker. "Lighting the rings with flames is the hardest part of learning how to fight with them. Once you can create a flame out of your resolve, all that remains is maintaining that flame."

"So that you can open the boxes, right?" Haru asks, biting her bottom lip. She thinks of the orange Vongola Box settled on the night table beside Tsunayoshi's bed whenever she visits his house, the flames that hum into the air around his fingertips, the energetic animal that box contains. She misses Natsu.

"Yes," Adelheid replies, nodding once. "Boxes can only be opened by a strong enough flame."

"Easier said than done," Hana snorts from where she stands, her right hand tightening into a fist. Her gray eyes narrow as flickers of violet whisper from her ring, barely alive, but still beating from the pulse in her wrist. "Damn it—this is tough."

"I never said it would be easy," Adelheid answers, sighing. "This isn't something that should be taken lightly. In fact, if Sawada Tsunayoshi caught wind that I was teaching you how to wield deathperation flames—"

"—He'd be angry, I know," Haru interrupts, narrowing her eyes. Adelheid blinks. "He'd be angry that we're learning how to protect ourselves behind his back, that we're stepping all over his man pride and his resolve to keep us safe and away from danger. That's just like him: asking us to sit, and wait for him and the others to come back safely when—even though we know they're strong—there's always the chance that they won't come back to us alive."

Haru's arm clenches, shakes. She's suddenly angry—_so_ angry. It's crackling inside her, along her skin, tracing breaths of ire and fear into her auburn eyes. She feels the static cruising through her veins, pricking her muscles and bones and nerves with needle-sharp ferocity, but awakening the flames lying dormant inside her. There's a presence in her chest now, something solid, and whole, and hard—it shields the vulnerability and fragility inside with feigned strength and pure confidence. It's pitifully delicate, but relentlessly fast and strong—it strikes her wrist, brightens the back of her hand for a single pulse beat.

She knows these are deathperation flames—_release_, _me_, _now_.

Adelheid seems to notice the rise of Haru's deathperation. She's holding her ring hand across her body to ward off the beginnings of the brunette's hostile intent—she's still so, _so_ angry—powdered wind blows through the air around her. Kyouko and Hana's eyes widen as Haru closes her eyes, and raises the ring toward her face, whispering to the ring as easily and calmly as Tsunayoshi does in the moments he's alone. She never expects the emerald gem to light, no, deep inside, she doesn't want it to, but she knows it's only responding to her feelings, to her _wish_.

_Please. _

_Give me the power to protect Tsuna-san and the others. _

Lightning bursts from the ring's center, crackling into the air with such force that Haru almost screams and flinches away from the power she's summoned. It beats like a heart atop her hand, acts as a shield for her emotions, keeps her hostile intent within its confines—she gazes down at the spikes of light that stab and thrust themselves into the air, reaching for Kyouko, and Hana—calling to their dormant flames, _i_, _can't_, _do_, _this_, _alone_. Her flames surge for the cages holding theirs, sweeping through the defense woven by Adelheid's, overtaking the three of them without restraint.

"Haru." Adelheid's hand is gentle atop hers, but the Glacier flames chilling her flesh are not. "You're losing control. Calm down."

"Hahi?" She turns, and glances around. There's hardening residue strewn all across the air, crackling within their share of the sky—Kyouko's golden eyes are filled with concern and worry as she holds her ring hand close to her heart, Hana's silver irises carry both pride and the slightest bit of fear at the manifestation of Haru's determination. Haru knows she never meant to scare them. The brunette turns to Adelheid, and lowers her flames, "Of course, Suzuki-san."

.

A short while later—after Haru drinks a cup of her favorite tea—Kyouko manages to light her ring. It's small at first, a fragile little yellow flame, one frailer in comparison to her brother's roaring flame. Hana comes next with breaths of violet purple, smiling in delight and pride at her dainty Cloud flames—Haru can't help but shiver in her seat when the thought of Hibari's darker and purer flames crosses her mind. She glances down at her own ring, and focuses her mind, picturing his smile, his eyes, his flames—viridian snaps into the air from the back of her hand almost instantly.

Adelheid nods curtly at their flames. "They will suffice for this afternoon. In all honesty, the three of you progressed much faster than I had originally assumed."

"Is that so?" Hana asks almost haughtily, sloshing the tea in her cup the moment she plops down in her seat beside Haru. "What? Did the idiots take longer or something?"

"I'm not sure of how long it took Sawada Tsunayoshi and the others to light their rings," Adelheid states, taking a sip from her cup the moment Kyouko hands hers to her. Haru raises her own cup to her lips, and tips it against her mouth. "It normally takes longer to master the first stage of mastering deathperation flames."

"And two days isn't long enough for you?" Hana challenges, still smirking. "Figures. You know, Suzuki, you're kind of stiff."

"It's my duty to be," she answers, closing her eyes. Hana sighs, and turns her attention to her tea cup. Haru glances at Kyouko—the girl's smiling as always, beaming without a care in the world, just like her brother. Haru wonders if it's a Sasagawa trait to be bright as the sun, and almost tosses around the idea that it's their flames and natures that allow them to be so carefree. "Ice is firm, and unyielding."

"Just because you're the Queen of the Tundra doesn't mean you have to have a pole up your ass the time," Hana snorts, leaning back in her chair. Adelheid's crimson eyes open just beyond the rim of her tea cup, but she says nothing. "What does Kozato make you do? Paperwork? That'd stiffen me up, no problem."

Adelheid turns to Kyouko, and hands her the empty tea cup.

There's a moment of pause.

Then:

"Yes."

Hana smirks. "I thought so."

"But, Suzuki-san, don't you spar with Hibari-san too?" Kyouko asks, taking the tea pot's handle in one hand, and pouring more black tea into Adelheid's cup. "Mukuro-kun tells me that whenever he wants to spar with Hibari-san, he's always busy."

There's a certain softness in Adelheid's eyes that makes Haru believe there's more to their sparring sessions than the two let on. "Yes. I spar with Hibari Kyouya frequently, if only to hone my skills. His strength never ceases to surprise me."

"Hibari-san has always been strong," Haru points out, entering the conversation. "He spars with Tsuna-san too, when he's not busy practicing with you, or signing papers, or keeping the peace. He's always there for us, even if he doesn't want to admit it. He does care; he just has an odd way of showing it."

Tsunayoshi pops into Haru's head, _just like you, right, Tsuna-san? _

"He's a very passionate individual," Adelheid responds, "one that, if someone doesn't look closely enough, can be mistaken for violent."

"I think you're a little late there, Suzuki," Hana snorts from her end of the table. "Everyone's already scared of him."

"That's a pity," Adelheid answers, sipping from her cup when Kyouko hands it back to her. "He's an interesting person."

"Easy for you to say," Hana retorts. "You're in love with him."

For a moment, Haru is almost scared that the Glacier Guardian's going to hurt Hana—she tightens her right hand, prepared to jump in between the two at a moment's notice. She gasps at the presence of Lightning-class flames spouting from her ring, and closes her eyes, struggling to rein them back in, to calm down, and even though she doesn't say anything, Haru knows that Adelheid notices her apprehension.

But all Adelheid does is smile, and answer, "I suppose I am."

**.**

**tbc.**

* * *

**notes**: More 1820 is needed on this site. Enough said. Thank you for the feedback everyone, please keep it up.


	26. catching lightning v

**notes**: This one gave me trouble. I wasn't sure how to write it according to the image in my head. But hopefully, it comes across as angsty as it should_—_hence, _crumble_.

**notes2**: As stated in the first, second, third, and fourth segments, **_bells-mannequin_** owns the idea of a _lost scenes complex_, so therefore, I do not take credit for this. I also recommend you read hers, despite whether or not you ship 8086, because it's _still_ just that awesome. Thank you.

* * *

**CATCHING LIGHTNING**

_part five—_**************  
****crumble**

* * *

_(gone are the days,_  
_you were there protecting me)_

Everything soon goes to hell in a hand basket.

Enemies are _everywhere_—mountains, river, city, forest—Tsunayoshi's resources are stretched so thin that even the Arcobaleno are helping hold back the forces aiming for Vongola Mansion. Yuni, the only Arcobaleno not present on the battlefield, stands calmly and quietly beside him, her hands knotted at her stomach, her delicate blue eyes firmly fixed on the horizon. Lal Mirch, the defective Arcobaleno as well as the only one aside from Yuni to be of proper human size huffs from where she stands against the map lying atop the table below them, her gun in its holster, her gray pacifier glowing with a faint azure luster.

"We can't afford losing anyone else," Tsunayoshi points out, laying a hand on the bright yellow marker to the south of their position, "We can't let anyone else leave here to help them either."

"This is _war_, Sawada. This happens." Lal's tone is frigid, and cruel—Tsunayoshi knows she speaks the truth. There is no place for softness in war—it's the reason Xanxus and Hibari and Reborn should be the ones in charge of this tent, but then again, because of their natures, they're needed on the battlefield. "There's no use thinking about all the things you can't control. People are going to die in this battle."

"Lal-san," Yuni whispers, turning to the bluenette. The former instructor huffs, and spits out a glare toward the Sky Arcobaleno, one that states, _this is something he needs to learn, whether he likes it or not_, before she shuts her eyes and turns away.

But he knows. He knows this is war, and people die—he knows war brings death, and pain, and loss, and heartbreak, and suddenly he's thinking about Haru and all the things she said to him that day with the rainwater speaking for him. He's thinking about holding her—he shakes his head, grits his teeth, tightens his hand at his side—having her face so close to his, her hand at his collar, holding him still, throwing a chance into his arms, him not taking it. His mind is full of regret—it spills over from deep inside, brimming within the flames singing for release.

He _needs_ to fight.

But he _can't_ leave Yuni without protection—Tsunayoshi knows that if an enemy manages to penetrate this far, Lal Mirch won't be enough to hold them back. And not even Colonnello will be able to make it back to their location fast enough to assist her, even if Falco carries him. Tsunayoshi's fist is suddenly enveloped in warmth—it feels so good in the absence of Haru's touch—and he blinks, surprised, turning to the closest person to him. Yuni's blue eyes brighten as her lips curve upward into a soft, gentle smile, urging him to smile too.

His eyes fall to the pacifier around her neck—_orange, just like my flames_—and he touches the sphere with his fingertips, light, hesitant. She exhales under his fingers, but smiles all the same, murmuring, "They'll be alright, Sawada-san."

Tsunayoshi releases the pacifier and sighs, turning back to the map. The Storm flame marker begins knocking, followed swiftly by the Cloud flame, Rain flame, Mist flame. The only one that's still holding strong, is the Sun flame—_Reborn_. Tsunayoshi swears that if Reborn's flame marker starts knocking, he'll lose his mind. Yuni's hold brings him back again, keeps him grounded even though he longs to take to the sky, to fly to his friends, to go wherever his heart wishes to lead him.

To Reborn.

To Hibari.

To _Haru_.

Natsu starts to shake in his box against Tsunayoshi's waist, sensing his emotions, feeling his pain, digesting it—ready to take him to where he needs to go, to help him do what he needs to do. Tsunayoshi pushes both his and Yuni's hands to the surface of Natsu's box as if to comfort the lion cub, to assure him that _everything is going to be alright_, that _even though I'm scared, I won't run away anymore_. He knows Natsu hears these thoughts, and the shaking stops—but the soft whines don't.

"Tsuna."

He jolts from his stupor, raising a hand to his headphones, and flicking his eyes toward the mouthpiece. "Reborn! What's going on? Are you alright? Do you need help, do I need to come and help you?"

"Don't be stupid," Reborn responds, static clouding Tsunayoshi's hearing. He thinks he can hear gunshots, the hisses of flames and box weapons squaring off, the hostile intent strong enough to reach him through the headphones. "You need to protect Yuni."

(Needing to protect Yuni and wanting to protect Yuni are two different things.)

"Is everything alright?" Stupid question—of course not, the Vongola is at _war_ with the Narciso family, and if the flame markers on the map below him are any indication, they're _losing_. They're losing, and Tsunayoshi can't be there to help them because he needs to protect Yuni, the only hope they have to survive. Yuni is the only reason they're still standing—the power of foresight, honestly—and if she goes, they'll all go. "I want to help, Reborn."

"Everything's fine," the infant replies, his voice crystal clear in the earphone. There's no more static, no more explosions, hisses of flames, roars of box weapons. There's nothing but Yuni's touch on his hand, the stable flames on the map, Reborn's voice in his ear. "They're pulling back for now. It seems like Hibari went on a rampage and punched a hole in their defensive lines—Yamamoto and the others are cleaning up now."

Tsunayoshi smiles—_leave it to Hibari-san to be there for us when we need it most_.

"Fon and Colonnello are on their way back, Tsuna. Tell Ryohei to get the hospital ready—"

"—I thought Onii-san was with you," Tsunayoshi answers, panic flooding over him, "What—"

Yuni's touch grounds him again, along with Lal's soft expression holding his caramel eyes. The ground starts rolling underneath him, and he closes his eyes, dizzy where he stands. It feels like exhaustion, like _stress_ stampeding through him, trampling his strength. Reborn seems to catch his weakness, and sighs on the other line of the transmission, worried, but as enigmatic about it as always.

"Yuni, you can hear me, right?" he says, his tone dark, grave, solemn. Tsunayoshi doesn't resist when Yuni takes his headphones from his auburn hair and holds one of the earpieces to her ear, and mouthpiece to her lips.

"Yes, Uncle Reborn," she answers, her blue eyes gentle, but panicking. Reborn huffs into his mouthpiece.

"Tell Lal Mirch to get Tsuna someplace quiet. We've lost some people—no, _a lot_ of people."

"And you think he can sense that?" Yuni asks, taking Tsunayoshi's weight when he leans against her right shoulder, breathing heavy.

He doesn't understand it, he knows he's not sick, but his head won't stop spinning, and the ground won't stop shaking. He can't stand up straight, he can't open his eyes for fear of his head pounding, and his legs are becoming too weak to hold him up. Lal's at his shoulder, supporting him, her brown eyes holding their rare, but softer luster. He knows he's stronger than this, but staying awake is becoming a struggle—his mind flickers to the tone of Reborn's voice, the silent implications, the unspoken thoughts, his Hyper Intuition rising without his knowledge.

Yuni's voice is far away. "I'll make sure he rests, Uncle Reborn."

His breathing is slowing—he can't maintain consciousness.

"You're going to call _her_? I mean no disrespect, Uncle Reborn, but I don't think now is the best time—"

Lal's voice is in his ear, close, barely there, _you have to fight it, Sawada, we need you! _

"Yes. I understand. I'll call her, after I bring Sawada-san to someplace quiet. I'll also ask Sasagawa-san to prepare the medical equipment. Thank you, Uncle Reborn. Farewell."

(End of transmission.)

**.**

**tbc.**

* * *

**notes**: 2701 is also a pairing I like to ship. I just like the Sky Arcobaleno in general, along with cheeky little _Reborn_. Thanks for the feedback everyone. Keep it coming, please.


	27. catching lightning vi

**notes**: So, we're nearing the end of this complex, and I'm slowly losing my sugar-and-rainbows writing style. Honestly, there's a certain style of writing I'm trying to go for, and these past few drabbles haven't been it. Hopefully my frustration isn't showing in my writing.

**notes2**: As stated in the first, second, third, fourth, and fifth segments, **_bells-mannequin_** owns the idea of a _lost scenes complex_, so therefore, I do not take credit for this. I also recommend you read hers, despite whether or not you ship 8086, because it's _still_ just that awesome. Thank you.

* * *

**CATCHING LIGHTNING**

_part six—_******************  
****landslide**

* * *

_(i know what it feels like,_  
_come and make me feel alive)_

It comes as no surprise when Yukari calls Haru down for tea, asking about Sawada Tsunayoshi.

Sawada Tsunayoshi—the name alone brings chills to Haru's arms, shivers to her spine, summons his voice into her ear, _i'm sorry, i'm so sorry, haru_, holds his heart under her palm, through her sleeve. She can't help but picture his rain-soaked auburn bangs clinging to the sides of his face, framing his chocolate—human—eyes, the raw emotion hiding inside the seams of his wet black sweatshirt, and wonder, if she's hurting him more than he's hurting her. He's always told her that Kyouko—she bitterly notices how _Kyouko_ is always mentioned first—and herself is what keep him strong, allow him to keep fighting. Because the both of them love and support Tsunayoshi with everything they have.

(Haru wonders, _where has all his strength gone?_)

(She soon offers an answer, _up high into the sky._)

Her mother sits across from her at the small, wooden table. The kitchen is pristine, as always, an example of Yukari's years of practice in terms of crockery and curtains and silk runners and white oak chairs. Haru knows these lessons by heart—_clean with the grain_, _fold one over the other_, _keep legs neatly folded under the table_. She knows them, and practices them with the same confidence and elegance as her mother, Yukari. And it's because of those lessons that she knows the graceful curve of Yukari's lip is transient and empty. She's upset, no doubt about Tsunayoshi.

Yukari speaks first. "How are you two, Haru?"

Direct, polite—exactly as Haru's grandmother taught her, as well as an example for Haru herself to follow. But this one, Haru can't bring herself to fall in step beside. Tsunayoshi—it hurts too much. Still, even though she's taking the steps necessary to not have it hurt so much. She flicks her brown eyes down to her charm bracelet, noting the presence of one Lightning-class ring, before meeting her mother's gaze.

Keep your eyes front. Leave your emotions behind you. Never turn away from your companion—it's bad manners.

"Tsuna-san is fine," Haru says. It's a lie—she hasn't heard from him in two months. "And I'm fine too."

Yukari takes a sip from her tea, and sighs. "I honestly miss having him around. Your father does too, even though he won't tell you. You've been distant from us since he left that evening. What happened between you?"

Trust her mother to be direct when speaking to her own daughter. "We're fine."

_No,_ her heart whispers—whimpers—_you're not. _

Keep quiet, heart.

"Then," Yukari says, placing her tea on the table, "why did a girl named Yuni call for you?"

"She's a friend from school," Haru lies, brushing the question off with a wave of her hand. "I helped her in Math class in eighth grade—she's been at Tsuna-san's house for picnics before, hasn't she?"

Yuni. Sky Arcobaleno. Deathperation flames. _Mafia_. Tsunayoshi really is fighting—bleeding, dying, _protecting_ her. Before Haru knows it, a tear's sliding down the side of her face, slipping from her skin and falling into her tea. She doesn't reach up with her arm—it isn't ladylike to cry in the presence of another, _a woman must hide her tears or swallow them in order to keep a certain queenly quality about them. _But thoughts of Tsunayoshi's flames falling, fading, dying cross her mind.

_Go to him_, her heart murmurs, _he needs you, and you need him. _

How demanding her heart has become.

Yukari takes one of Haru's cheeks in her fingertips. The brunette sighs and leans into her mother's touch—it holds the same semblance of softness as Tsunayoshi's, reminds her of meadows of wildflowers, hours spent lying among the grass blades, sleeping with her fingers in her hair and his face at her neck, breathing, asleep, but still close. Yukari's gentle amber eyes soften, and her thumb brushes another tear from her daughter's face, before laying her other hand on Haru's heart, listening with her own pulse.

"What happened, Haru?" Yukari asks, her tone soothing. Haru's resistance crumbles, and she explodes into sobs, choking her feelings into the distance between them, coughing up two months' worth of emotions, heartache, regret, and longing onto the table—_see, i told you so. _

Arrogant also.

"W—We broke up," Haru chokes out, wiping desperately at her tears, _composure_, _composure_, _composure_, _where has __**my**__ strength gone?_ "We broke up two months ago. He—He left me behind, Mother. He didn't give me a choice."

Yukari's irises flicker, but she says nothing.

"I want to hate him," Haru continues, hanging her head, letting her tears fall, "but I _love_ him so, so, so much. And if he loves me too, why did he choose to leave me behind? Why did he look at me like the sight of me hurts him?"

Yukari runs her fingertips across the tear-stained locks of hair clinging to Haru's cheek.

"Why—after the thousand times he's held me, kissed me, comforted me—didn't he take me with him?" Haru asks, swallowing her voice. She hopes he can hear her, from wherever he is. She hopes he knows how much his decision is hurting her. How much the fact he asked _Yuni_ to call her irritates her. She rises from the table, her auburn eyes heated and drawn, but averted. "Was I not good enough? Was I not strong enough?"

"No," Yukari replies, smiling gently, "it's not that."

Haru turns her gaze back to her mother. "What is it?"

"Men have this, thing inside them that won't allow them to put their lovers in danger. Danger doesn't have to be life-threatening, Haru. It can be emotional, mental—Tsunayoshi-kun must have sensed that there was some sort of threat coming that could hurt you, and chose to shield you from it," Yukari continues, sipping from her tea. Haru blinks slowly, before sitting back down, lifting her own tea to her lips. Yukari's lip curves upward, flashing a crooked smile that, in the haze of emotion, reminds Haru of her favorite Tsunayoshi smile, and brings tears to her eyes once more. "Trust me, Haru. If ever there was a boy in love, it'd be Sawada Tsunayoshi."

It feels good to hear, to _feel_—Haru's heart is sprouting fearie wings and flying in her chest.

She smiles. "I want him to love me, Mother."

"Then, what're you waiting for?" Yukari answers, gesturing to the phone. "Your friend Yuni asked me to tell you to call her back as soon as you got the message. Her number's on the counter written in orange marker."

With a goofy grin on her face, she bounces across the dining room and gathers her mother up into a hug, holding her tightly before releasing her. Her mother looks up at her with a gentle smile, and nods to Haru as if to say, _everything will turn out alright, you'll see. _Haru nods back, and crosses the dining room to the phone, her heart in her throat. The number is on a post-it beside the cordless phone, waiting for her. Haru pulls the phone from the cradle and types the numbers in, hesitating as the dial tone sounds.

What if Tsunayoshi picks up?

What if her call wakes Hibari, or any of the others from their naps?

What if—

"Hello?" Haru sighs in relief—it's Yuni.

Haru closes her eyes, gathers her wits about herself, and says, "It's Haru."

There's a smile against the mouthpiece, then, "I knew you'd call, Haru-san."

**.**

**tbc.**

* * *

**notes**: Thank you for the feedback, everyone. Please keep it coming.


	28. catching lightning vii

**notes**: So. Yeah. Kind of a different style for this one. And it's not mine, but I'm too embarrassed to write whose it is, but rest assured that this is _not_ my writing style. I just enjoy writing this way when I'm having writer's block. Innuendos always manage to get me out of it. I don't know why.

**notes2**: As stated in the first, second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth segments, **_bells-mannequin_** owns the idea of a _lost scenes complex_, so therefore, I do not take credit for this. I also recommend you read hers, despite whether or not you ship 8086, because it's _still_ just that awesome. Thank you.

* * *

**CATCHING LIGHTNING**

_part seven—_**********************  
****stone**

* * *

_(why am i,_  
_hell-bent on losing?)_

Of all the things to send him tumbling into one of his characteristic downward spirals—with a cherry on top of the minor goddess of Anarchy—of course it's the sight of Miura Haru on the doorstep.

And it's not really _Haru_ that sends his nerves, mindset, heart, emotions, soul, whatever else is lumped together with feelings and souls into a downward spiral. It's actually Reborn and Yuni, maybe Lal Mirch too if only because the three of them conspired to have Haru come to Italy—what about _time of war_ do they _not_ understand? Tsunayoshi knows the Sun-class infant's always got it out for him, but this is crazy. Bringing a civilian—_Haru_, no less—into an S-class warzone is beyond moronic. He's not going to lie, he wants to see her. But _not_ when he's hosting a picnic for the Axis and Allies.

No. Just,_ no_.

But she's here. In front of him. With her long brunette—no, mahogany, chocolate, with ribbons of caramel, if he wants to be _technical_—hair loose, and wavy, begging for him to touch them. She's got a pair of rose-colored sunglasses in her hair, settled at the crest of her windblown bangs. Her legs are bare, smooth, snow-white. He can see the shadows of her breasts under her blouse. Her lips look like they'll taste like Twizzlers.

Damn it, Reborn.

Haru's not alone. Hana, Kyouko, and _Adelheid_—the traitor!—are dawdling at the front gates, holdings bags, suitcases, jackets, and clearly fake smiles plastered onto their faces, except for maybe Adelheid, who takes _extreme_ pleasure in watching Tsunayoshi's expressions as he suffers. Most likely because Hibari does, or because Tsunayoshi is always asking Hibari for help regarding disciplinary matters or sparring sessions. That, or whining in his ear about something he can't change, nor control—mostly the latter.

Haru shifts in her sandals, her arm cocked at her side. She seems afraid—he can smell the Japanese air on her skin, misses his mother, kissing Haru in the rain, holding her under the stars, the whispers and sighs of _home_. Her eyes harden, flash with viridian, jade, verdant light. Her hands fist at her sides, the hem of her dress rippling in the wind. She looks so beautiful, so damaged, but achingly beautiful that his hands crash and crave within his pockets. One milky shoulder parts under her thick burgundy locks in the wind.

(Damn it, damn it, she makes him wanna die so badly.)

(With chain-links. As if that's not the kinkiest thing he's ever wanted to say.)

(Disgusting.)

"Tsuna-san," Haru says, slowly, gracefully—icily, "How have you been?"

Of course she goes straight to the uncomfortable question. Hits him right where it hurts. He wonders if that's her angle, if she's trying to hurt him as much as he supposes he hurt her. Though, if Tsunayoshi wants to be honest, this gaping wound in his chest isn't exactly numb, and the corners and arrows of her face aren't exactly sunshine and smiles. There're no rainbows in her eyes. No glitter. No glow. Just anger, ice, and contempt. And lightning—something fast enough to flash, bright enough to blind him. For a second, at least.

She's not here because she wants to be.

What did Yuni say to her?

"I've been alright," he answers, honestly, politely—tiredly, "It hasn't been easy."

"I know about the war, Tsuna-san. You don't need to hide it from me. I know that Vongola is in danger again, and this time, I'm going to do more than cooking and cleaning. I hope you accept that." Her eyes are flint, flames, smoke, ashes, _dragons_ all at once. "Do you understand me? I'm not settling for kitchen duty this time. I'm doing some of the heavy lifting. I'm tired of being treated like I'm some damsel in distress like those girls in those shoujo manga. I. Am. Going. To. Fight."

_I_.

_Am_.

_Going_.

_To_.

_Fight_.

Her face is so close. So, so, so close. He can taste her breath on his tongue—sweetness, Namimori air, strawberry lollipops. Her eyes are seething and hissing inches from his caramel ones—his lips twitch, but he says nothing. She takes the lead, "I am going to fight for you, Sawada Tsunayoshi. And you know what else?"

Pink fingernails glide across the side of his face. Tempting. Teasing. Lusting. Everything he's wanted since he left her on her porch step in the rain those months ago. His breath hitches, and her lips flick into a grin—small, triumphant, haughty. This isn't the same Haru he left behind. She's colder—_hotter_—bitterer, fierce, but still soft. Soft, in a way he doesn't like. Alluring, in a way he wishes he didn't miss.

His tone is husky, low—_restless_. "What else, Haru?"

She doesn't quiver under the touch of his voice—her moist, strawberry lips curve. Upwards. She's grinning. Naughtily.

"You won't stop me."

She says it like it's a challenge—she hasn't challenged him quite like this before. Her grin turns reckless, impulsive—snaps back and forth, straddles the invisible fence between them, plucks petals from innocent flowers, counting, _should I_, _should I not_, before she pulls back, releases him from her manicured nails. His eyes open once more—just when did he close them?—his breath escapes his lips in a sigh. His mouth tingles upon his features. His hips throb, ache, _moan_ within his pants. His hands _scream_ for the pearly white skin under her dark hair.

So. _That's_ it.

_That's_ her challenge.

A game of tag—she's going to lose.

She isn't stepping back. Her threat's on the table, her challenge in his hands, her words hanging in the air. She's not backing down—she's _deadly serious_, he realizes, and though he knows that when she's determined, she's _determined_, he can't help but quirk a corner of his lips up. She's still going to lose, no matter how much willpower, heart, emotion, modesty, _skin_ she puts into it. She's going to lose. She can't hide that from herself, and even if she is, it's clear as day on his face that he's not letting her dominate him.

Wait, _what_?

She notices his nervousness—wets her tongue with it—and licks her lips under the pretense of lightening her lip gloss. He knows her—she's feeling raunchy, and it's sexy as hell. Tsunayoshi doesn't step back, doesn't jerk his face back from their proximity, because he'll be damned if he lets her beat him in an elementary school game of stare-down, and neither does Haru. She's keeping pace with him, matching him stride for stride—she's always been a racehorse, he notes, and with a blink of her eyes, she brushes past him, taking the door from his fingertips and holding it with her own.

She glances back at him with one, combusting auburn eye. "Are you going to escort me, _Tenth_?"

Whoa.

No. Just, _no_.

That word should _never_ come out of Haru's mouth.

(But damn does it hit him in the sore spot, and make him ache for more.)

He seizes her amber eyes in his level, chocolate ones. "Where?"

Stupid question.

Stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid.

"My room," she responds, honey sweetening her features. Twizzlers. Strawberry lollipops. Damn. He wants her lips so bad. She's got his core in a _chokehold_ he wants her so badly. She twists. He almost moans. Whimpers. Strikes back—kisses her breathless. "So I can get settled."

Tsunayoshi narrows his eyes. "I can have—"

"—_No_," she interrupts, shaking her head. "_You'll_ escort me. No questions. No arguments. _Now_."

And she cocks her hip, leaning her head back—he's never seen her quite like this before, there's sugar in her presence, but so much spice and dark chocolate that her taste isn't as light as it was before—her can see her weight quivering as she watches him, her eyes talking in place of her lips. Her heart's in her mouth, he can see it beating against her lips. The words she doesn't swallow, they're heavy in her lungs, on her shoulders, in her eyes.

He takes a step closer. Another. And another, until his chest is barely grazing her back, and the crown of her head's brushing against his lips. Strawberries. Honey. Orchids. Her scent—_Haru's_ scent. Another surge of lust, want, need washes over him as she twists her grip on his core once more, and his eyes fall shut, and her lips curve upward, and he's subdued, defeated, waiting, drifting.

She doesn't reward him.

She only takes his suit sleeve in her pink fingernails, and pulls him after her, leading him up the stairs, keeping him in her clutches. Tsunayoshi doesn't resist, only follows, regaining possession of his body the moment her charm bracelet brushes against his wrist—_is that a Lightning-class ring on her bracelet? _Her hips move in front of him, milky shoulders completely bare now, her dark hair gathering at the center of her back. He doesn't remember her being this… seductive, let alone beautiful.

He's _so_ going down.

In flames.

**.**

**tbc.**

* * *

**notes**: Please keep reviewing, everyone. With a little cherry on top of me.


	29. catching lightning viii

**notes**: Yay. The end of this complex. I mean, for the main story at least. But I'll probably write some omakes or bonuses or after stories or something to tie up loose ends, because there are _a lot_. It's like I slapped this thing together, and in all honesty, this isn't what I had originally planned. I'll leave it at that.

**notes2**: As stated in the first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh segments, **_bells-mannequin_** owns the idea of a _lost scenes complex_, so therefore, I do not take credit for this. I also recommend you read hers, despite whether or not you ship 8086, because it's _still_ just that awesome. Thank you.

* * *

**CATCHING LIGHTNING**

_part eight—_**************************  
****rip**

* * *

_('cause i feel, _  
_i can always show my everything to you)_

It's like her decency goes up in smoke the _instant_ the bedroom door shuts.

She wants him. On her hips. In her hair. In her mouth. Holding her breasts. She wants him everywhere—her skin's _burning_ for it, heart pushing and pulling at her ribcage, crashing and craving in her chest. She can't get his taste out her mind—she hasn't tasted him in _months_, long enough for her feminine sensibilities to take a tumble over the edge once she comes face to face with a man. A man hosting a picnic for the Axis and Allies, _and_ a sexually-deprived woman. With Tsunayoshi—with him standing a few inches from her quivering from the same desire that's got _her_ in a chokehold—she thinks she can set her modesty aside for a while.

(A _long_ while.)

Her fingernails reach for the hem of her dress—his auburn eyes widen, lock, tear, _rip_ as she pulls at the lacy—_black_, how precocious—edges of her panties, glancing up at him with a coy, gentle expression on her face. She knows he'll stutter. She knows he'll watch her drag the fabric of her underwear down her smooth, pearly thighs, toss them aside, reach for the stays at the back of her dress—his fingers look like they want to have a go at the laces holding her dress together, his lips are quivering with want. Need. Lust. Desire. A bunch of other deadly sins all boiled into one.

She _thinks_ she sees gluttony cross his eyes.

He's hungry?

She licks her lips. Tastes her strawberry lollipop. Tastes hunger—such intense hunger, she's been starving for him ever since he left her on the porch steps in the rain. Such a dramatic change of events—this isn't supposed to be in the cards. Making out, maybe. But teasing him this way? No. Just, _no_. She may be hungry, but that doesn't mean she should start something she'll have no intention of finishing once it gets messy. She's not the type to get her hands dirty, and she knows that—Tsunayoshi knows that.

Haru closes her eyes, and releases her black lace, lifting herself upright. "Thank you for escorting me, Tsuna—"

His lips crash into hers, desperate, white-hot, scorching, _bruising_—his arms seize her in an iron cage, his fingers threading through her brown hair, pulling at the stays tied at her back, containing her breasts. His lower body collides with hers—holy, hell, does that _hurt_—pulls her flush against him, keeps her there, parts her mouth with his tongue and charges. He isn't holding anything back, his one hand reaches for the back of her head and tilts her face, pressing deeper and deeper—there's no choice but surrender.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It _fucking_ hurts.

Her core starts _combusting_ as his hands pry each of the stays from their binds—she's too busy kissing and wanting and holding and touching to give a damn about the fact that she's half naked, and he's still fully clothed. His eyes fall to her breasts—she raises her arms to cover them, noticing the shift in his expression, but his hands stop her. They're shaking. Trembling. Quivering. Their hold on her wrists is gentle, and quiet—_calm_ now that he's ripped himself out of his filthy skin, bore his soul to her judgment in their kiss.

There's nothing more to it. He picks up her dress from the floor, hands it to her, and once she's in it, turns her around and starts tying the laces back up. He doesn't speak and neither does she, even though her heart is still pounding hard. Heavy. _Damn it_, Tsunayoshi. His light touch on her back brings her back to reality once more, and she turns her head, pulling her hair forward over one shoulder—her sienna irises meet his caramel ones. His fingers stop moving, pausing against her milky skin, waiting. Expectant.

Shit.

She doesn't want him to stop.

She doesn't want him to stop touching her.

But he has to, and she knows he does—she whispers breathlessly, "I can tie them, you don't have to do that."

"It's fine," he answers, his fingers moving again. She almost sighs and leans into him as her skin sings against his touch. She's missed him—she _misses_ him. She's a fool, letting him go. Letting him stop. Letting him drift further and further from her. His presence is so close, but so far away—she presses her back into his chest, laying her head back on his shoulder. He doesn't stop her. "Haru."

"Let me do this, at least," she murmurs. His cheek touches her temple, the corner of his eye grazing her hair.

It's a fragile thing, this moment in time, and if she wants to be honest, it feels better under her skin than those heated moments before. She doesn't want him in a tizzy—sometimes, no, _most of the time_; Tsunayoshi's handsomest when he's flustered—she just wants him close, just wants his hold around her, his touch against her skin, his voice in her ear. She knows that she was only acting out of the hurt inside—her Lightning flames are a testament to that—and by doing so, she hurt him too. But that's not important to her anymore, and neither is all of the kissing, touching, holding in the world. She just wants him to be around her. Not necessarily inside her.

(And you all thought that Haru couldn't pull off a perverted funny—served.)

He sighs, his eyes closing. His arms wrap around her, loose, modest—hesitant. "I missed you."

_I missed you. _

She smiles. "I missed you, too. My mother did too—I couldn't go a day without being asked where you were, or what you were doing. She loves you, you know. My father does too."

"I," he starts, his eyes half-lidded, "can't. Because if I—"

"—I know," Haru interrupts, reaching back with her hand, burying her fingers in his thick, auburn hair. His eyes flash to her charm bracelet—the Lightning-class ring attached to the center of it. In that instant, she knows that he knows. She doesn't need to tell him—she can light a ring. He doesn't say anything, but she knows he's anxious. His brow is furrowing, his eyes are quivering—she knows that he never wanted this. "And I understand now what you were trying to do. But this… This is _my_ fight too. It's not about my independence or my stupid, petty arguments. These flames can _protect_ people."

"They also destroy," he whispers, his eyes closing. "Why? Why, Haru, when you know how hard I fight so that you _won't_ have to."

"I wanted to prove a point," she answers honestly, laughing bitterly. She raises the charm bracelet to her face, squints at the ring with her eyes. It looks small against the pearly hue of her skin, almost feeble in the light. A weapon. A tool for murder, protection, and bloodshed all in one piece of jewelry. She leans back into Tsunayoshi's embrace just the slightest bit heavier, her other arm rising to hold her dress up to her chest. "A stupid, selfish point. I asked Suzuki-san to teach me how to use them. Kyouko-chan and Hana-chan have rings too, Tsuna-san. We all want to be able to at least protect ourselves."

Tsunayoshi buries his nose into the hair at her neck, tightening his hold on her, taking a deep breath, sighing it back out against her skin. His breath is warm, hot, and for a moment, she breaks out into chills, his touch tickling the underside of her lungs. She makes no move to escape him—her heart aches, even as her head falls back against his shoulder once more, her eyes shutting. Her independence isn't worth losing this—Tsunayoshi. Some point she wants to make.

"I won't fight," she promises, turning her head toward him. He doesn't see her. His breathing quivers along her skin, his arms tightening. She knows he's crying in that silent way he does—it's like he's holding back all of his emotions, refusing his tears, keeping his heart locked behind a glass wall. She can see him hurting. But he won't let anyone in. "And neither will Kyouko-chan and the others. But if someone threatens me, I won't think twice before using these flames to protect myself. Is that fair?"

A few moments of silence.

A few more stuttering breaths into her hair.

Then:

"It will not come to that."

She closes her eyes.

"I promise you, Haru, it will _not_ come to that." His irises are smoldering amber at the edge of her face. There's no hesitation, no trace of a lie boiling in their depths—there're flames, of course, but there's a _promise_.

_He means every word_, her heart murmurs, _he won't let you go. _

She turns, letting her half tied dress slip from her chest as she reaches both hands to Tsunayoshi's face. His arms slip to her waist, his eyes widening—he leans into her touch, her hold, and even though they're not together, that they're still broken-up, but coming closer, he doesn't push her away when she kisses his lips in earnest this time. He doesn't reach up to pull her closer. He doesn't part her mouth against his. He doesn't do anything but let her kiss him herself—he gives Haru her independence, lets her call the shots.

Just like before.

**.**

**end.**

* * *

**notes**: I miss Psycho-Pass. Especially Kougami Shinya. Just putting that out there. Please, review?


	30. kono te wo hanasanai de

—

**thirty**—_**wire**_**.**

—

"Do _not_ let go of my hand."

She doesn't—her fingers thread into the spaces between his gloved fingers. They're cold, she notes, before glancing through the small hole just in front of her eyes. She's breathless at his side, her auburn eyes carrying the hue of the single, autumn flame burning at his forehead. His cheeks are bleeding, she hears the blood fall to the floor, raindrops in the night.

"You don't have to tell me that." Her voice is a fierce, subdued whisper in the darkness—ash and smoke dance close to her eyes. She pulls the hem of her skirt down further on her legs. "But, Tsuna-san, what if…" —she bites her bottom lip, tasting blood, salt, dirt, ashes, smoke, plaster— "If one of us… It's not your fault. It _never_ will be."

"Be quiet," he orders, gritting his teeth, fear blazing in the depths of his vermillion eyes. She sees flickers of purple, blue, green—all the colors of the rainbow flash on the planes of his face in that moment.

Blood falls to the floor from their entwined fingers, his other hand clenches at his side, bracing his injured thigh above the cement. She can't make out the oblique angles of his face in the musty, smoky air—tears glisten in her irises as quickly as she blinks them away.

"They will come," he whispers, weakness smothering his words, but his fear and resolve still reaches her despite the roaring fires in the room around them. "Do _not_ let go of me. No matter what, do _not_ let go of my hand. Can I trust you to keep hold of me, Haru?"

She still has to kiss him. She still has to confess to him. She still has to live, to love, to want, to _have_ him.

"I believe in you," she says, tightening her fingers in his hold.

His eyes are wide—wounded—in the flickering light.

She brushes her fingertips across one of the cuts on his cheek, just beneath his quivering eye, his auburn hair tickling the backs of her fingers. Her gesture is meant to be comforting—light in the disparity of their situation—and though his head tilts into her fingers, the slope of his lips remains steadfast upon his features. Desperation and fear explode from the cracks and crevices of his face as the enemies draw nearer still.

Haru closes her eyes—braces herself.

(Suddenly, there's a wire around her waist, blazing warmth at her back, wind in her hair, something fluttering at her cheeks—then, _nothing_).

**.**

**end.**

* * *

**notes**: So. Thank you for your feedback everyone. Please keep it up? Also, **bells-mannequin** was my inspiration for this drabble as well as most of the others. So. Read her stuff. _Now_.


	31. dirty and raunchy girl

—

**thirty-one—**_**itch. **_

—

It starts _just_ as impulsively as she likes to think.

There's the _boy_—the adorably stupid, no-good _boy_ that makes smiles tread for miles and eyes roll skyward at even the slightest of touches or whispers—and the _girl_—obviously, in order for this to work, there has to be _two_. There's a Point A and a Point B—the path that leads to where she would like to end up but he's resisting the temptation to follow her—a start and a finish. No passing Go.

She'll have to break him first.

.

_She's going about this all wrong. _

A thought—it comes while she's in the shower, running her washcloth over her curves and reveling in the fact that, yes, he's on the other side of the thin, practically see-through curtain, and second, it's three in the morning and they still have three or four hours to kill before reality wakes up to kick them both upside the asses. Namely, _summer jobs_. Except Tsunayoshi's is more of a _daring adventure_ more than the minimum wage boutique retail sort. She has to admit, she's rather jealous. Jealous doesn't even cover it—he gets to play knight in shining armor for girls all around the world while she's stuck rotting away in a boutique on market street when she _should_ be rocking the beach, like every other _normal_ teenager her age.

Like beauty queen Kyouko, but hey. To each their own, right?

"I leave in thirty minutes." Around the curtain. Between fingers. Shut eyes. Of course. Leave it to Tsunayoshi's full-time _job_ to screw everything over. She honestly wonders how Kyouko can do it with Mukuro. And how Adelheid can do it with Hibari. Then again, Adelheid's a Guardian too—for another family, but a closely allied one, practically for _their_ sakes. He shifts. Shoves a hand into his pocket. "I'm sorry, Haru."

She wonders if she should cup some water and throw it at him in frustration. How many times has she heard him say the word _sorry_ in the past week? She counts on her fingers, twice, three times, finally giving up once she reaches thirty, then blows hot air out of her mouth as she lathers her hair up again. "Honestly, Tsuna-san, you leave so often I'm used to it by now. You come and go. That's your job. It's fine. I'll take Yamamoto out for lunch tomorrow before his game or something."

Second most frequently stated phrase goes to: "This isn't that kind of trip."

"Of course it's not," Haru snorts, dryly, wryly, tiredly, exasperatedly, "because you're in the Mafia and practically everyone else I know is in cahoots with you and your full time _job_."

There's silence for a few moments. Long enough for her to finish shampooing, washing her face, putting in conditioner. She's just about to shut off the water when the curtain pulls back and a small, hesitant expression pokes out from behind thin fingers. He's looking at her, but at this point, she's too frustrated to care whether or not he likes what he sees.

He has the nerve to smile. Cautiously. "Courtesy of Reborn?"

"Naturally."

.

It's like the punch line to a bad joke.

She isn't certain whether or not she should demand compensation for this fiasco of an evening, or if she should shove her _extremely_ expensive boot up his ass for dragging her to the park while he knew full damn well that it was going to rain. She knows he's awkward, clueless even. But a date in the rain? Seriously? Only if there's kissing involved, idiot. Fat chance of that—he hasn't kissed her even once. Seen her naked in the shower a bunch of times, but not one little kiss.

She's sure that even _Hibari's_ better than that.

She's wringing out her hair just inside her front door and cursing his name under her breath for screwing up her sea-salted waves and kitten eyes, when he wrenches her up by her jacket collar and pushes his lips to hers—hard. Deep. Fast. Wet. It's too brief to fully justify the ungodly two seconds it takes, but instead of complaining and berating him for his backing off so soon, she's just shocked he's actually made a move.

Something other than texting her with the question mark capped suggestions of _walks in the park_, or _taking Lambo to the amusement park_, or her personal favorite: _hanging out at his place_, which normally includes intrusions from Reborn (she swears he's more like the spawn of Xanxus's loins than a lethal assassin) and frequent visits to the world ten years later where—_naturally_—all hell's breaking loose.

So. When her mind recovers enough to process the fact that Sawada Tsunayoshi just kissed her somewhere other than her cheek or someplace obscure like her elbow, she takes his face in her hands and pulls his lips back to hers, keeping him still—her fingers have got a chokehold on the unfortunate bunches of auburn that frames his eyes and temples. He doesn't resist her, but he doesn't respond to her as forcefully as she hoped he would, but, then again, this _is_ Sawada Tsunayoshi. Clueless, but noble and handsomest when flustered.

She pushes him back so that they're nose to nose. "Honestly, Tsuna-san, what were you afraid of?"

He blinks. Raises his eyebrows. Playing smartass—playing the Percy Jackson act, and looking hot while doing it. "I was waiting for you."

Okay. So _not_ Percy Jackson—she's running out of fictional characters to liken his puppy dog eyes to. Or pleading seal eyes. Something cute. She decides to pull an Annabeth: "Waiting for me to do _what_?"

"Well…"

"I thought so," she says, righting his clothes and clapping her frozen hands together as if by doing so, the pins and needles hiding under her skin will somehow pop out and drop to the floor. She tosses her damp hair, sighs, and pulls her shoes off with her fingers. She catches him watching her. "What?"

"What time are you planning on going to sleep tonight?"

She curves a corner of her lip up—she likes where this is going. "After my show, why?"

Now he's smiling. Grinning like the lovable goofball she knows he is. Adorably stupid, impossibly boyish, so utterly clueless that he wouldn't be her Sawada Tsunayoshi without at least a drop of innocence. No. Obtuseness is more like it. And now that she's looking at it, that's _not_ a smile. That's a _smirk_. Tsunayoshi smirking is not something she's used to.

She _really_ likes where this is going.

"Mind staying up a little later?"

She pushes herself up onto her tip toes and leans her face close to his ear. Lowering her voice _just_ so that he has to tilt onto her lips, she whispers, "I wouldn't mind pulling an all-nighter."

He shivers.

That's it, Tsunayoshi. Pick up on that innuendo. Process it. Start combusting. Aim. Fire—

"I don't have anything to do tomorrow."

Oh for _fuck's_ sake. "I'm taking a shower."

Did she just say that? In _that_ tone? She almost flinches at her voice—it's never sounded so low, throaty, demanding. She's never felt this starved, or disappointed, or even frustrated, really. She's been mad before. She's been furious before too. But frustrated? She's sure that all of those words mean completely different things. This isn't mad. This isn't furious. This is _frustration_. This is stupid Sawada Tsunayoshi being thick in the head and clueless and obtuse and oblivious and—

"I'll come with you."

She turns from the steps on the staircase, and lifts one eyebrow as if to say, _oh, really? just to play guard dog on the other side of the curtain?_ and turns back up the stairs as if he hadn't spoken, before he catches her wrist in his hand. If there's one thing he's good at amongst all his faults, he at least has the decency to read her body language to be able to tell the difference from real anger and exasperation. But this time, it's a mixture of both. Breaking him seems impossible now, even if she were to strip down to practically nothing.

Then his voice is in her ear, low, hot, husky, and her mind's blank as his voice sinks deeper, and deeper, and somehow, she's not sure how she ends up in the shower with his arms crushing her against the wall, but she sure as hell doesn't mind being there. Point A to Point B. No side trips—maybe for soap and Scrubby Bubbles.

And for the record, he doesn't break first.

She tears at the seams.

**.**

**end.**

* * *

**notes that you might want to take note of**: Due to the fact that a.) I was on hiatus for a long, long time, and b.) I'm going to college in August, and c.) my drabbles for this are getting dirtier and dirtier, the following are going to be happening: I'm going to be writing and posting more often once I get Microsoft Word on my new laptop. I'm also going to try to finish this drabble collection before I go to college or the drabbles are going to become far and few between due to lack of time or they're gonna get shorter. Lastly, this drabble collection is now M-rated. Better to be safe than sorry.

**also important**: In case everyone forgot, I _still_ do not own anything in this drabble collection. Thank you, and please let me know what you think.


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